Life and Times of Bart and Burt
by Armadilloi
Summary: Read the A/Ns for explanation.  Our favorite couple in retrospect as they struggle to save their marriage.  It's worth the read. Sarah-centric with a lot of 1st person POV, an experiment of sorts.  Last 6 chapters posted and work is completed.  No more.
1. He Said 1

BartBurt1

I decided to take the couple out of their comfort zone, change circumstances and bring them together repeatedly through monologues. Chuck and Sarah have been married for several years and partnered even longer. Circumstances have prompted Sarah to file for divorce as she petitions the CIA for a return to active status after a 2-year hiatus. She's required to attend regular 'divorce counseling' sessions to purge herself of her demons before the agency will permit her return. As a twist, the counselor also requires that her husband participate but due to his separation, his participation is via email.

Each segment will be posted with the other's comments on the events discussed or written about so you'll get about 4k of items to review, each as its own chapter.

Read it. Love it or hate it but it's how things happen in today's world. The language is real and some of the comments are taken from actual conversations I've had in the past with fellow green grunts going through the same thing I did. If GEG was me vomiting up my love life, this is me puking my service time up, although I lost my first wife early-on to a stroke during her first pregnancy and I was in the ME instead of home where I belonged.

I'm asking for reviews. I think this might, with some tweaking and name changing, dumping and changing the intersect refs, be worth considering as a commercial venture so I really want your 'hate it/like it/you suck' comments.

It's been sitting on a flash drive I'd misplaced some time ago. I don't even remember writing it to tell you the truth. Nik read it, hated it, thought about it, and the really hated it. Not the story, the reason behind it.

BTW, there's hope for us. She's appalled at the crap we face in PA just getting the utilities turned on and forget the DMV. She came home in tears asking if she'd made a mistake. Yep, there's hope. Gotta love Yankee rudeness. Rubs the southron girl wrong. Note to Yankee yuppies: keep pissing her off. I want to go home.

APR  
Outside Ugly Erie PA

* * *

Chuck's Version (Via E-Mail)

Hey, Doc, what's up with the shrinking profession? OK, I'm sending you my first 'installment' in response to your list of questions. Enjoy!

My 'full ride' to Stanford did not include room & board and my class load didn't allow much time for a part time job so in order to get the money I needed, I, Chuck Bartowski, robbed a bank.

No, I didn't. I wasn't a criminal but I was desperate. I worked a full year after high school at the local Buy More before enrolling in Stanford. I also enrolled in the Army ROTC program 'offered but not sited' at Leland Stanford School for the Over Privileged since the late 60s when all ROTC programs were 'removed' from the curriculum vitae in a moot gesture of support for the antiwar sentiments of the faculty.

My Buy More earnings were stretched almost to the breaking point when I was accepted into the 'Advanced ROTC' program that I commuted to over at Santa Clara twice a week. I received a monthly stipend that met my needs, paid for my share of the apartment I shared with my friend Bryce Larkin, and fed me and put gas in my decrepit Honda Civic.

I attended 'Cadet Basic Training' and 'Advanced Individual Training' between my sophomore and junior years. The one overwhelming thing I remember about FT Ord, California, is that I hated FT Ord, California. I died there during the Basic course, came back to life just in time to die again in AIT. Summers were brutally hot and I hated 'hot'. I loved air conditioning. The Army did not. Sleep was always beckoning and always just out of reach, or so it seemed.

The enlisted instructors and drill sergeants hated ROTC cadets. We were their future bosses and so they endeavored to teach us our 'place' in life at every opportunity. When a 'Kaydet' screwed up, the entire platoon of cadets would participate in the punishment. Guess who screwed up a lot? Yep, Cadet Charles Irving Bartowski.

"Batshit, don't you know your left from your right? All riiiight, Kaydets, drop and give me 50."

"Batshit, you _NEVER_ leave your weapon unattended. All Riiiight, Kaydets, fall in for PT courtesy of Kaydet Batshit."

I wasn't the only cadet to screw up. Hell, we all did. I just remember the times I did.

There were areas where I excelled. Maybe it was all those first-person shooter video games I played with Morgan and Bryce, I don't know, but I shot a 'possible' on every weapons qualifications exercise. I also held the cycle record for fasted field stripping drill on every weapon we trained on. Must have been the Buy More experience of rebuilding electronics, I don't know.

I even maxed out the PT Test and thus ensured myself the coveted position of Honor Graduate. Like I said, there were areas where I excelled. And there were areas where I screwed up. I screwed up big-time when Bryce showed up on the weekend before graduation with two hot babes he'd smooth-talked into coming to Ord to 'help save his best buddy from the Army'.

* * *

We spent the weekend drunk, debauching the hot babes, and I showed up for morning formation on Monday late, drunk, out of uniform and covered with lipstick and smelling like a distillery and a Louisiana whorehouse.

We graduated on Thursday. I wasn't the honor graduate. Apparently, being 4 hours late for a 6am formation, puking on the boots of my platoon sergeant, and being a first-class wiseass did not endear me to the system.

But I did graduate, and that was the whole point of the matter.

My junior year at Stanford was the best year of my life. I had money to pay the bills, an entire wardrobe to loll around in on the weekends, my class load dropped and the quality of my grades improved. And I met Jill Roberts, fellow Stanford Cardinal, pre-med major and all-around hottest woman on the planet. And she liked me. Really liked me. She copped my V-card and I spent more time between her thighs than her panties did. Oh, yeah. The best year of my life. We weren't 'going together' or anything. We just dated a lot with sleepovers optional but frequent.

While Jill and Bryce and other 'comfortable' (spelled R – I – C – H) people went to Mexico for Xmas break, I went to FT Benning, GA, for airborne training. The course was set up for ROTC cadets and was compressed to two weeks from the usual three. All it meant was that 21 days (and nights) of training were done in 14 days (and nights).

Did I tell you I hated FT Benning School for Boys and Girls? It was as cold as FT Ord had been hot. And it was a wet, damp, cold that cut right through to the bone. And it was always cold.

We ran everywhere. Walking was something you did in civilian life or when you were going to the latrine. The Airborne School was all about running, physical conditioning and…running. No fatties on the risers. Nope. No skinnies, either. Everyone lost fat but gained muscle mass. Even the split-tails (girls).

The curse of FT Ord came back to haunt me, just as it did every other trainee. Our instructors were all airborne-qualified, of course, and were addressed as 'Sergeant Airborne' regardless of rank. We were all addressed as 'shit for brains', 'Kaydet pussies' and several other monikers that cast doubt on our parentage and our humanity.

We learned to fall 'the Army way'. We learned a new way to run – the Airborne Shuffle. We learned how many different ways you could die when stepping out of a perfectly good aircraft.

It was fun.

My first jump was a night jump. It was 7am but I had my eyes closed from when we hooked up and then stepped out for the long fall until I 'landed'. When I landed on Georgia a few minutes later, apparently I'd forgotten everything I'd been taught. Instead of feet, legs, butt, and shoulder, I'd done something spectacular and gradually became aware of laying on the ground, looking up, and being surrounded by several 'Sergeants Airborne'. I don't remember the jump at all.

"Damn, Trainee, that was fuckin' spectacular. I've never seen 180 pound bag of shit land in such a disgraceful manner. If it wasn't for the schedule, I'd have you back on the towers learning the PLF but we don't have time for that. Get your sorry ass off my DZ and into formation."

Yep, I still screwed up a lot but somehow I graduated and wore the coveted jump wings and could now blouse my boots into my Cochrans when wearing my Greens. Ooo Rah!

* * *

Jill was nice and brown and more than willing to make me forget about Georgia. She was warm and soft and everything I wanted and needed. What the hell. I was in lust sliding down the slippery slope toward love.

I met Jill's parents when they came down from Seattle for a weekend. We hit it off. Especially her dad and I. He was a recruiter for Roark Industries and was prepped and ready to offer me a full-time job in their IT engineering division upon graduation. Between his daughter's glowing tales and my transcript, he'd come ready to talk salary and relocation and…my intentions towards his only daughter.

"Well, sir, I'm very flattered and would love to join Roark Industries but I financed my education through ROTC and I have a commitment to the Army after graduation."

"Son, that's no problem. We have several congressmen in our pockets. Hell, I'll call the Senator-on-tap and have her tell the Army to either forget about you or transfer you to an inactive reserve unit. Don't worry about that. Hell, once you and Jill are married…you _ARE _going to marry her, aren't you, Charles?" He gave me the 'daddy glare' and I felt my balls pull up into my abdomen. I hated daddies.

"We've discussed it but she's not thrilled with becoming a 'camp follower'. It's been a big stumbling block. Plus she wants to go to med school and being married just doesn't fit into her immediate plan, I guess."

"Her _plan_ has changed. She's going to get her doctorate in microgenetics and come to work at Roark. Don't worry about the Army. We'll take care of that. You take care of my little girl, Charles, understand?"

"I've still got another year here at Stanford. I think it's a little premature to make a commitment since the Army has first dibs on me. I'd love to come to work at Roark if you can get the Army out of the way." Yeah, I figured a reserve unit would be perfect. One weekend a month plus a 2-week summer drill beat the hell out of four years.

"Consider it done, son. Now, before the ladies think I've killed you, ask her, Charles. She'll say 'yes'. I know she will."

I had no idea how things were going to play out. None at all. Like an innocent lamb being led to the slaughter, I was being led to the (gulp) altar.

Things between Jill and I really heated up. She moved in with me, spent almost all her free time with me doing things we both loved to do and became friends with Ellie, my sister, the nag, the intern, the nag, and my only living relative, the nag. Many times I caught them looking at bridal magazines when we went down to Burbank for a weekend. They'd become plotters, and I was their objective (pronounced 'vic-tim').

* * *

The summer between my junior and senior years was the most demanding, rewarding and confusing 3 ½ months of my young life. I went to Ranger School, almost died, found out I really loved being a soldier and I met and fell in love with a fellow Ranger candidate.

OK, I'm straight. The thing is, this cycle of training was a test-bed for coed training. The Army was in the thick of thin things trying to appeal to all segments of society and toe the line on the whole Politically Correct thing. Thus, we had female trainees from the Point, the Marines and some other government agencies with initials instead of names.

The instructors had a simple plan in mind: cut the split-tails out of the pack and send 'em home as quickly as they could. In the minds of some of the unenlightened, there was no room for a Ranger who squatted to pee. Male chauvinists abounded in the Army. They had good reasons for it. But no one asked them, they were told 'train 'em' and so they did.

Our class was special and small and under the microscope of the DC crowd. Every week each of the 7 female 'trainees' were interviewed by some woman from DC with a chip on her shoulder and a divorce in her immediate past, a divorce from a career officer in the Army. Sunday afternoons were 'our' time but apparently the girls didn't get the memo. Instead they got the Feminazi for an hour or more.

Monday mornings were hell in a normal cycle. They were more so if one of the female trainees had vented about some slight from a male trainer or trainee. We had 'sensitivity training' sessions instead of sleeping like we needed to. Ranger training was based on the theory that if you were sufficiently sleep-deprived, you were easier to train. Bullshit but it was a cornerstone of training. If you could function in the last week on 2 or 3 hours of sleep after 10 weeks, you could handle the pressures of combat. We began to resent the sessions and took it out on the girls who complained to the DC Bitch who ordered more training. It was a vicious cycle.

I had been paired up with Cadet Ashburn from West Point but he'd washed out due to a hamstring injury and so I was pushed up the alphabet until I was partnered with Burton as my trainee 'battle buddy'. Burton was shorter than I was, about 5'9" with mousy brown hair that looked like it had been hacked off with a weed eater and piercing icy blue eyes. We hated each other at first blush.

The instructors referred to us as 'Bart & Burt', shortening our names for convenience sake. We were always first choice for details, problems and exercises. It was always 'Bart & Burt, fall in' or 'Bart & Burt, lead the exercise'. I wish I'd been born a Zumbowski.

Things were cold between us. She was distant, reserved, very judgmental and critical and seemed bent on being the honor grad. Don't know why she cared. She wasn't in the service but came from one of the government jobs.

Our FTX in the Florida swamps brought us together. We were 'tail end Charlie' on a patrol through the swamps and were setting up a night 'base camp' when Burt whispered she needed to pee and shambled off into the saw and elephant grass for privacy. I just kept 'improving our fighting position' when I noticed two of the Pointers enter the grass about 10 meters up from us. Apparently peeing was a group sport at the Point.

A minute later I heard a muffled scream, probably not loud enough to be heard past our position, and I grabbed my e-tool and ran into the saw grass. The two Pointers had Burt on her back, her pants down around her ankles (she was peeing, after all) and one had pulled her BDU jacket up over her arms and head, effectively muffling her and securing her from beating the shit out of them. Did I mention Burt was a girl?

The biggest Pointer was on his knees, equipment in hand ready to make entry when I whacked him upside his head with the collapsed e-tool. The second 'gentleman from the Point' looked up from ripping off her t-shirt and sports bra to catch my e-tool full in the face.

I pulled Burt's jacket down and caught her fist in my face. I heard the crunch of my nose breaking off in the distance someplace but then just yanked her onto her feet and whispered 'pull up your pants and let's get out of here. I think I killed them.' It was too dark to really see anything and it wouldn't be morning until I saw the bruises on her face and legs. I really wasn't thinking straight. I was pissed that someone would try and rape my partner. So much for the Long Gray Line and their honor code.

We slid down into our hole. Being on a hummock, we'd escaped the low water table seepage and we were relatively dry.

"Burt, did they, I mean, are you OK? I'll be right back. I'm going for the senior instructor."

"NO! No, please. This never happened, Bart. I fell. They'll use it against the other female trainees. I wasn't hurt, Bart and thanks to your timely arrival, other than being embarrassed, I'm not hurt. You're my hero, Bart. You saved my ass."

"No, Burt. This cannot go unpunished. Those bastards would have raped you and you'd have kept quiet and they know it. No way. This has to be reported. They're not going to stop with you. They'll work their 'magic' on the others. I can't live with that on my conscience." I started to climb out of the hole but she pulled me back down against her and whispered harshly in my ear.

"NO! You can't. I'll lose my…I can't have this on my record. My job would be in jeopardy. Burt, you have to let it go. Please? For me? Please? I can't lose this job. It's my last chance."

"What kind of job is more important than punishing rapists?" I whispered into her ear, equally as harshly.

"I – I can't tell you. I owe these people my life and I can't let them down. Please, Bart. Forget about it. It's not important and nothing happened thanks to you. Please? I'll make it worth your while." She grabbed my crotch and began fondling me through my BDUs. Shit.

I guess I lost my temper because I was up and out of the hole in a heartbeat. I found the Ranger Sergeant who was the senior instructor and dragged him out into the saw grass. I showed him the two bodies. I explained what had happened. He started swearing a blue streak about idiot trainees and their inability to not get lost in the dark. Now he had two trainees dead in a training accident. Shit!

The whole conversation was whispered but I could hear the rage in his voice. He told me to go back to my partner. He'd handle everything. I could see something in his eyes that I'd never seen before: respect.

"But Ranger Sergeant, I killed two…"

"Son, they died in a training accident. It happens all the time. Me and the other Sergeants will drag them out to where the gators nest and then we'll spend tomorrow looking for them before we find them. Go – Back – to – Your – Buddy!"

Just then one of them groaned and tried to sit up. It was the one I'd hit in the head. The sergeant shoved him back down with his boot and motioned for me to leave.

I slid back down into the hole and found my battle buddy sobbing quietly. I put my arms around her and squeezed her arms against her sides and whispered "It's all going to be OK. The sergeant's going to drag the bodies out into the swamp and let the gators have at them until they 'find the bodies' later tomorrow. It's OK, Burt. It's my responsibility. I did it. You're the victim, not them."

She kissed me. It was slow and warm and wet and her lips were so soft and she started squirming when I deepened the kiss so I broke it off. "Sorry, Burt, got carried away there. I'm sorry."

"I'm not, Bart. You're sweet and you care about people. Now, let my damned arms loose so I can hug you. Kissing is a team sport, Bart."

You can have incredible sex in a foxhole if you don't mind the mosquito bites all over your exposed parts. I know this for a fact because my ass itched for days. But the sex was incredible. She was incredible.

The next day a medivac chopper with two MPs aboard flew in and took the two Pointers away. I never saw either of them again. No one said a word to me or to Burt. In fact, we seemed to be 'dipped in the Blood of the Lamb' as far as the instructors were concerned, avoiding all the shit details and even being granted a 12-hour pass the night before graduation.

* * *

Burt and I had become inseparable, finishing the cycle in the #1 and #2 spots. The night before graduation she took me to a hotel and turned me every way but inside out. She left sometime in the wee hours of the morning whispering, "I'll always remember you, Bart."

She didn't show up for the graduation ceremony even though she was the honor graduate but it was just as well. Jill and Bryce showed up unannounced. It would have been awkward. I'd never cheated before, not once, not ever. God, I missed 'Burton, J.'

It was awkward anyway. Jill had a string of hickeys on her neck that I saw that night in our hotel room when we were fooling around in the shower. Her long hair had hidden them but I saw them. I thought of Bryce and I knew who had planted them there. I never said anything. Who was the bigger hypocrite?

We flew back to San Francisco in time to register for classes. My senior year would not be all that great. In fact it would suck.

Hey, Doc, I got to split. I have a recon patrol overdue and someone's got to run the retrieval. I'll email you the next installment per our agreement but for right now, I have 11 guys more important that we are.

Later.

C. Bartowski


	2. Sarah's Version

BartBurt2

These aren't necessarily contemporaneous but each pairing is meant to be the 'other version' of mutual events. This'll happen until one becomes unable to respond due to events. Oh, yeah, and it's finished with NO more chapters.

* * *

Sarah's Version

I walk into the counselor's office with an attitude. A bad attitude. I don't want to be here. I do not need to be here. I need to be running the refresher course at the Farm. I've been out of the loop for a year, almost two. I needed the refresher.

OK, Doc. You want me to start at the beginning and I will. Back to the past.

I first met him in 2002 when I was sent to the Army's Ranger School. I was 19 and fresh meat for the Farm. The Agency felt that the course could prove beneficial and 3 of us were selected from the group going through the physical training regimen before starting training at the Farm and sent to Georgia. We all figured it would be a piece of cake. After all, we were training to be in the CIA while these idiots were training to become targets for terrorists. Our overwhelming feelings of superiority got ripped from our psyches by the first week of pre-Ranger training.

I thought I was ready for the Farm. I probably was but there was no way I could possibly have been fit enough for Ranger School, not with the assignments I'd been doing prior to reporting for training. We ran, pushed Georgia away, pulled ourselves up countless times to rest our chins on some stupid bar, did sit ups and ran for days, or so it seemed.

I was partnered with an enlisted NCO who thought my first duty was to blow him when we sacked out. He got recycled for a rupture. I was kind of a pariah after that until they shifted us around after another round of cuts, washouts and recycles. I ended up with a tall and gangly ROTC cadet with a Polish name longer than the ruptured NCO's pecker and everyone shortened it to the first syllable, 'Bart'. Some Ranger Sergeant with a sense of humor shortened my name to 'Burt' and we became 'Bart & Burt', the buddies most often selected to do all the shit work.

I hated him. Then I grew used to his inane chatter and found that he could be 'nice'. I'd never been around a 'nice' guy before and it was refreshing. Sometimes, when we were in the field, I'd wake up and find myself in his arms or I'd be spooned against his back, especially if it was cold in the damned foxhole or in the rain, under our ponchos.

The wheels came off during an FTX (Field Training Exercise). I went off into the saw grass by myself to pee and two of the nation's finest Cadets from West Point tried to rape me. They had me down, pants around my ankles and feet in the air and my BDU jacket over my head and arms and I could feel the first Cadet poking at my…getting ready to enter me when I heard a metallic thump and a body hitting the ground and then another metallic sound and suddenly I wasn't being restrained.

Someone pulled the BDU off my face and I hit him, hard, right in the nose. It was very…satisfying…for about a second until I recognized my battle buddy, Bart. I'd popped him in the nose.

He told me to 'pull up my pants'. He said he'd killed the two attackers with an e-tool…that's a kind of collapsible shovel, an entrenching tool. It makes a wicked weapon. He dragged me back to our hole and he was so sweet and kind. He asked me if they'd…raped me and I told him 'no'. He wanted to go get the senior Ranger and report it but I knew they'd just hang him out to dry and use the whole incident as a way of getting rid of the female trainees.

He told me he had to report it. He said if he hadn't killed them they'd just do it to some other poor girl and it had to stop. He was concerned that I'd been hurt but I was more concerned about my cover being blown. No one was supposed to know that CIA trainees were in the cycle. I told him I'd lose my job and he just started quietly ranting about what kind of job could be so important that being raped was worth keeping quiet about.

He was up and out of our hole before I could think of anything to say and then he slipped back in and told me the Rangers would handle everything. A training accident. Shit happened all the time. They'd drag the bodies out into the swamp and let the gators have them. I was crying, trying to figure out how fucked my life had just become. He told me not to worry. It was his responsibility. He'd done the killing. I was in the clear.

He was so damned sincere that I forgot all my training and my self-control and I kissed him. It was the sweetest thing I'd ever experienced and I wanted more. I broke off the kiss because I couldn't use my arms but he thought he'd screwed up and apologized.

The next couple of hours were a blur but it was the best sex I'd ever had and the best I'd have, except for graduation leave, until later in my life. It was incredible.

We became 'best buds' and even got a 12-hour pass the night before graduation and I got us a room at the King's Inn and we did everything you could imagine until he fell asleep, exhausted. Doc, I wanted nothing more than to lie down beside him and hold him for the rest of my life but I had to go.

I whispered that he was my first love and that I'd never forget him. I haven't forgotten him, either. I just sorta…misplaced him. I left him in Georgia. It was one of the hardest things I ever did, leaving him, knowing I'd never see my sweet Bart again.

I whizzed through the Farm training and aced all the courses. I'd set new records. I had a purpose. The night before I reported to 'makeover' I opened up my small box of treasures where I keep things I want to keep but not allow anyone to see. All spies have a lockbox where we keep our wills and important keepsakes. My Ranger Tab is in mine along with some other stuff. I have a picture of him I found on the internet on the Ranger website and printed out. It's in my lockbox, too. I filed 'Bart' under 'precious memories' and tucked him into that part of my mind where I hide things I want to remember but never share.

* * *

I went into surgery the next morning and came out with a slightly different facial bone structure, a more aquiline nose and a firmer chin. The head of my section recommended I 'go blonde' and I kept the hair color for nearly 15 years. When I look in the mirror I don't see 'Burt' any more. The eyes are the same color but they've seen too much. The nose and chin are still there although my nose has been broken a few times and I've had my teeth capped but those changes were all superficial. Something has changed in me over the years and 'Burt' is long gone.

I miss her. I miss Bart, too. They never had a chance.

* * *

I was in Dubai with two other girls trying to set up a honey trap on a German businessman who was smuggling chemicals to Iraq. We needed to know the extent of Saddam's bio WMD and we were getting nowhere. Suddenly there was a huge roar from the streets and people were cheering wildly and someone told us, we were masquerading as Australians, that 'martyrs had struck a great series of blows' against America. That was September 11. We wrapped up the operation and headed home through Europe.

My next assignments were straight seduction, infiltration and assassination. I tucked the part of me that was still 'Burt' deeply away in the same place I kept 'Bart' and did my duty. After a series of successful assignments I got sloppy. I spent 4 months in the hospital recovering from surgeries and then was assigned a partner – a new agent named Bryce Larkin.

Sarah Walker and Bryce Larkin were an instant success. We matched and complimented each other in terms of abilities and desires. We were soon the CIA's top team. If you needed something done and done quietly and efficiently, you sent us. I loved the job and found that I loved Bryce, too. Maybe 'loved' isn't the best descriptor, but 'like' just doesn't get it.

The sex was OK, not as good as I'd had in with Bart, but I figured I'd just romanticized it and it probably hadn't been all that good. After all, all men were alike, basically. At least Bryce was upfront with me, admitting that he had no desire for an 'emotional attachment' but had no problem with sex as long as there were no strings attached. Like I said, we matched each other's desires perfectly. 'I itch. Scratch, please."

But every once in a while, OK, not all that frequently, maybe like um once a month of so, I'd find myself crying for no reason other than I wished I could see him just one more time and explain why I left.

I knew that was impossible but I was still hanging on to that little bit of 'Burt' and you know how young girls are about their first loves. I was no exception. OK, OK, I still hang on and pull her out and look at her from time to time and marvel at how innocent I used to be. I miss them, Bart & Burt. They were the best of us both.

I'm tired. I think this is enough for today. I have a rather full schedule and I don't know if I'll be able to make the next scheduled appointment. Things are heating up and I might be needed elsewhere. I'll call and leave you a message.

* * *

NSA Monitoring Center

John Casey slammed down his headphones in disgust. The bitch was going to drag this out for as long as possible leaving Chuck hanging out there with no hope of things improving. He looked at his watch, did some quick calculations and made a call he hoped he'd never have to make.

"Woodcomb residence."

"Ellie, hi, it's John Casey. Long time, no see. Look, I need a couple of minutes of your time. They're in trouble and it looks bad. No! No, not in danger, in trouble. I need to come out and see you. I have questions that need answers and you're the only one who has the insights and knowledge about what really happened out there. I can be there by tomorrow afternoon if you're agreeable."

He closed his eyes and listened to her voice. It had been 3 years but he still longed for what he knew he could never have.

"Yeah, Ellie, I'm still here. Just thinking, that's all. No, I haven't heard from Chuck since before this all went down. I had no idea something this drastic was on her mind. Things appeared 'normal' on the surface but you know how she is, like a duck on the pond, all placid and sedate but underneath, paddling like crazy."

"No, I don't think the situation is beyond hope. _HE_ still wants it. _SHE_'s the problem. Apparently she's getting herself a new partner and she's banging on the desk for a long-term, deep cover, overseas assignment. She's running away from her problems just like always."

"OK, I'll see you then. I'll call you from the airport."

He was 47 years old and he still had a crush on Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb. He was pathetic. She had a kid. She was just getting over her own divorce and didn't need any more complications in her life.

She didn't need a washed up ex-secret agent, that was for damned sure.

He walked out of the monitoring center and his aide snapped to attention.

"Your car will be around front in a few minutes, General. I have your briefcase, and the overnights for your review. Also, here are your calls. I've taken the liberty of prioritizing them. Your schedule for the next two days has been cleared and your plane will leave at 0800 tomorrow from BWI arriving in Burbank a little before 10am with the time difference."

"Thanks, Fred. That's all for tonight. I'll call you from L.A. Go home. Tell Angie I said hello. You're free of any dog robbing for the next two days. Enjoy them but keep your cell handy."

Brigadier General John Casey, newly confirmed Director of the National Security Agency and acting Director for the past six months, sighed and walked out to his car. Sometimes it was easier being told what to do than to be the one doing the telling. He envied Chuck Bartowski. His life was…simple…except for the shitstorm Sarah was stirring up and his day-to-day task of staying alive in a combat zone.

He and Ellie had become friends after Chuck finally told her about his 'secret life'. She'd come to him for validation and left with a huge hole where her innocence was stored.

He'd kept in touch, even after he'd been 'kicked upstairs'. Chuck was his best friend. They'd grown almost as close as brothers over the course of the intersect trials and Team Bartowski. He spent a lot of time at Casa Woodcomb, especially after Devon decided that a bubble-brained receptionist in his practice would make a nice replacement for his wife. He divorced her and never looked back. He didn't even ask for visitation rights for their daughter and that was another thing Casey would never forgive him for.

Chuck took it all in stride, spending as much time as he and Sarah could with Ellie. They were a family, even if Devon had torn them apart. John and Sarah had talked about Devon's abandonment and it had turned into an argument that never seemed to get settled. She saw nothing wrong with calling it quits if there was something better out there and Casey found that attitude reprehensible and told her about it in no uncertain terms.

Looking back, he should have realized that she saw herself 'pulling a Devon' if she found herself wanting 'something better'. He never mentioned the argument to Chuck but when he heard what she'd done, he remembered it and drew a line through her name. She ceased to exist in his world. She had betrayed her family.

* * *

Ellie's wedding

"Casey, it's simple. I want to get married. To Sarah Walker. What's so hard about that? Don't tell me the NSA has a reg about fraternization because I know it doesn't."

"Chuck, Chuck, Chuck. She's an agent. You're a civilian again. She might be telling you she's going to give it all up but she won't. She can't. It's who she is. You're smoking some powerful stuff if you think for one minute she's going to embrace the house, the mini-van, the whole suburbs thing. I know her. I know agents just like her. It will not work, not for long. In a year or two, she'll start whining and become very impatient and dissatisfied with life in general but with you, my young friend, with you in particular. I'm not trying to piss on your parade, Chuck. I'm trying to be your friend here."

Of course, he didn't listen to me.

I called Beckman and had some strings pulled. He needed time and distance and I was going to make sure he got them both. He'd thank me afterwards. After he got done hating me. I'd have to hide out for a while until Walker came down off the ceiling but she knew I was right. I'd talked to her right before Ellie's wedding. She said she was going to give it all up, stay with Chuck, turn her back on nearly a decade of life in the shadows.

"Casey, I know what I want. I want Chuck and I want normal. I see the life I can have and I want it. I want to share it with the man I love. Why do you insist on raining on our parade? I've wanted to marry Chuck since the days of Bart & Burt and now I can. Please, John, don't ruin our chances for happily ever after."

I wasn't ruining their chances. In my mind, I was enhancing them. Let some time go by for Sarah Walker the civilian and she'd see what I meant even if the moron couldn't. I was so sure of myself.

Beckman wanted him safe. If he was limited to the FOB (Forward Operations Base) his chances of being killed were greatly reduced. She'd wait for his period of maximum misery and then offer him the opportunity to come home and download the new intersect. She was sure after 60 boring days of reading intel reports he'd jump at the chance. She'd bless the marriage and everyone would be happy. Her, most of all. The Team Intersect would be back in the game.

I left Burbank and headed out for a long-overdue vacation. I figured I'd slip back in to Burbank in a week or two after the dust had settled. I would explain the 'why' to Walker and hope she didn't stab me with one of her damned knives. Maybe after she heard what Beckman planned she' d be a little less likely to kill a certain meddling colonel.

* * *

Present Day  
Washington, DC

Sarah Walker Bartowski (until the stubborn jackass signed the divorce papers) walked out of the medical plaza and out to her car. She resented the need for mandated 'pre-divorce counseling' that her Agency was forcing on her. It was over and it had been for some time. He just wouldn't accept it. He wanted her to be a damned camp follower and she wanted to be Sarah Walker again. She wanted something better.

She'd had her fill of being the hausfrau, had given it her best efforts for nearly three years before she admitted to herself that she was desperately unhappy with her situation. It was his fault. All of it. He wanted Burt and she'd grown tired of Bart. He was…boring. She wanted the energy and excitement of being an agent again. Maybe if she'd been able to conceive things would have been different but she hadn't and they weren't.

Her bodyguard protective service had thrived beyond the cover. She had income of her own and often thought about how effective she could be back in the field using her business as 'her' cover. So she made contact with the new director of the CIA and made a proposal that was being considered.

Sitting in her Porsche in the parking lot, she broke down in tears. She was so unhappy and so confused. How had things gotten so out of hand? They'd grown apart, yes, but they'd grown together, too.

_'Admit it, you still love your husband. You still want the house, kids and the white picket fence. You just don't want to admit it. You're the problem, not him. Burt betrayed Bart. Burt turned her back on him once, twice, more times that you can count. You're unhappy because you're overcome with remorse and guilt for what you did.'_

_'You know what you did and to make matters worse, you did it while he was overseas. This never would have happened if Burt was still in charge. Nope, no way. Bart would have left freshly-fucked and secure in the knowledge that his wife loved him and would be waiting for him when he returned.'_

_'He didn't even know which continent you were on, did he? What did your note say? Oh, right. You didn't leave a note, just empty closets. Welcome home, soldier, here are your divorce papers. No wonder he requested active duty with the 3rd ID. At least if he deployed, he'd know who the enemy was.'_


	3. He Said 2

BartBurt3

**_A/N: A word of explanation. The 'Chuck' stuff forms a frame for the other 5 characters who appear at random in this fic but stay around in the novella. The Chuck stuff has been padded to make this but I've stripped out the others to reduce the size and also because they have no context in the 'chuckverse' I've created. Each of them has their own tale and characters but aren't germane to the fic. Buy the book if you're curious…lol_**

**_

* * *

Hey Doc, greetings and salutations from Korea. Here's the next installment of answers to your questions. Let me know if I'm getting too long-winded or if I'm not answering what you need answered._**

My senior year was busy. I got engaged, cuckolded, unengaged, accused of running a test-selling ring, cleared of all charges, commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant and graduated with honors. That was in May and in June I reported to FT Benning and the 3rd ID for assignment and deployment. I had a lifetime of bitterness stored up already and I was only 23.

Jill had been banging Bryce as often as possible. I came home from class earlier than expected, obviously, because the professor's wife had a heart attack and he cancelled class. I found out two things that day: I could hate with unbridled passion and I could beat the shit out of Bryce Larkin.

It was a shock walking into our bedroom and finding her riding Bryce like a thoroughbred. I turned around and closed the door quietly and sat down at the kitchen table and drank a cup of coffee, weighing my options. I was almost done with the second cup when _she_ walked up behind me, tears staining her face, and apologized and begged my forgiveness. Bryce had slipped out the front door and was making himself scarce.

I got up, turned around, put my arm around her and ripped the ring, my ring, my token of 'forever', off her finger. She was shocked and speechless when I picked her up, still naked and sweaty from riding Bryce's cock, and dumped her out into the hallway on her naked ass and closed and locked the door.

It took me all of 20 minutes to pack up my shit and call the bank and cancel our joint checking account, call one of our friends to find a place to crash for the 3 weeks until graduation, and leave. Oh, yeah, while I was cleaning out my stuff I stumbled across test keys for several of my classes in an envelope in one of my bureau drawers. I burned them and flushed the ashes down the toilet…along with Bryce's cut up MasterCard, student ID, driver's license and his checkbook, too. Yep, I was hating. I replaced the keys with copies of Bryce's old tests.

I'd ignored the pounding on the door. Jill was begging and pleading to be allowed back in to explain and beg forgiveness. She was probably getting odd looks from the other apartment dwellers. Naked and sweaty babes outside my door weren't all that common. Bryce finally came back and used his key to open the door. He sent Jill to his room and confronted me…he confronted me!

I broke his nose, blackened both his eyes and I'm pretty sure I broke his arm when I threw his sorry ass up against the bookcase. It fell over on him and that's when it got broken. OK, so I didn't break his arm, but I enjoyed his groans immensely. The TV falling on his arm was just serendipitous.

I was summoned to the Dean's office the next day and I figured I was going to get raked over the coals for beating the crap out of the lying, cheating son of a bitch but instead I was interviewed and charged with running a 'test selling ring'. They presented the 'evidence' and my professor, the accuser, proudly extracted and waved the test keys at the dean.

"Here are the keys. Here is the evidence. I demand he be expelled!"

The Dean examined the papers and then told me he was sorry to have interrupted my day but there had been a serious breach of ethics and I'd been wrongly accused. I shook his hand and left the office, smiling like I'd just won the lottery. The last words I heard as I left were "Miles, you're in deep shit! You accused an honor student of cheating and your evidence is his room mate's old tests? Have you been using that shit again? I warned you…"

* * *

I was commissioned a 2nd Lieutenant in the US Army immediately before the graduation ceremony but there was no one there to pin on my bars. Jill had made herself scarce and Bryce and his mentor were licking off their wounds, and Ellie, despite her best intentions, could not get off work. The commissioning officer's wife did the honors. She had the same shockingly blue eyes as Burt and I realized that I didn't love Jill at all. It was all lust and expectations.

Nope. I was in love with my battle buddy, Burt aka Burton, J., she of the mouse-brown hair, the slightly crooked two front teeth, the breasts of an angel and the body of a goddess. God had a wicked sense of humor where the women in my life were concerned. He made them all heartbreakers and betrayers. Burt betrayed me by leaving without giving me any way of staying in contact. Jill betrayed me the old fashioned way, she fucked my best friend.

* * *

None of it mattered. Ninety days later I was in Iraq, running the roads and escorting convoys from here to there and back again. Sometimes we made it without any trouble. Most times we didn't. It didn't matter. I lived in the day. I didn't worry about tomorrow. All I worried about were 32 soldiers who made up 3rd Platoon of Delta Company. They were my world and my responsibility.

Running the same route day in and day out became both a benefit and a hazard. We got to know the people in the small towns and villages we went through. We also drew the attention of several of the Sunni 'freedom fighter' units who still dominated the military and political scene.

We'd laagered outside of a small hamlet some 30 miles northeast of Tikrit and were setting in when a small group of villagers approached us and asked to speak to the man in charge. That was me.

My troops had always been friendly with the villagers and our medic had spent some time running a mini clinic so in their minds we were not the bad guys the rebels had been telling them we were. The oldest man came forward and began speaking and our embedded interpreter translated.

"There are Sunni fighters setting up an ambush for you on the road 15km north." This was important news and also an important breakthrough. No one had been able to get anything like intel from the locals in our area. They were too distrustful and afraid of reprisals.

I thanked the old man and invited him to take coffee and bread with us. It was a traditional thing in Iraq and marked an important milestone. Coffee was a bonding ceremony. Coffee was the hub of their social settings. Coffee was the lubricant of Iraqi business dealings.

The bottom line was that 3rd Platoon, Delta Company, became the first unit to begin mining the locals for intel. People up the chain of command noticed and that was both good and bad.

My higher-higher suggested that we 'run the roads like normal' but he'd have Tac-Air orbiting just out of sight waiting to come to our aid. I wasn't stupid. A suggestion from the Battalion CO was an order.

I lost my first two men but we counted 26 bodies among the craters around the ambush site. Battalion was thrilled. I could have cared less about Battalion's orgasm. I had two letters to write. I hated my guys being dangled out there as bait.

* * *

We ran our convoys without any active intervention by the remnants of any freedom fighters. Instead, we began to hit IEDs and they took a toll. I requested a route change and we began heading due north from Tikrit to the northern FOBs. We were their life line although I still don't know why they didn't ship the crap by helicopter. The Iraqi air force had never shown its face and we never ran across any ground to air missiles in any sweeps.

It was Thanksgiving morning and we broke our laager and headed for the FOB known as 'Armageddon', escorting fuel and ammo trucks. I got a call from higher-higher to split off half my platoon and send it on a sweep westward along the highway leading to the Syrian border to meet up with some intelligence operatives who had some valuable intel on possible caches of WMD bio agents. They were supposedly carrying 'samples' taken from the bunker.

I held a briefing with my squad leaders and sent 1st and 2nd squads under the command of my platoon sergeant to continue the convoy route while the remaining squads, the interpreter and the damned embedded SeetheBeeEss reporter, a woman with an axe to grind with anything military, and her Aussie cameraman (videographer, you philistine), hared off to the west in search of the operatives. I'd been ordered to 'take the newsie along with you. Might be good press'. She was gorgeous, about 25 or so, tall and very photogenic. Her resemblance to a human being ended there. She'd been with us for 9 weeks and had yet to say a civil word to me. All she did was stare and when I caught her, she'd blush and look away but never answer my 'Why?'.

"LT Barwhatever, why are we deviating from our route? I have a slot in the satellite feed and I was planning on doing some human interest stuff on the soldiers at Armageddon."

"Orders. If we find what we're looking for, you might get the entire feed. It's that big."

"Is it…have they located…Saddam?" She spoke the name with an unnerving reverence. She suddenly became very friendly. That was another thing about her that I detested. She was only a millimeter thick. 'Shallow' didn't begin to describe her. When she became friendly, she also got 'touchy-feely' and it made things uncomfortable for me. I think she did it deliberately. It was her job.

"Nope. Maybe something better. Won't know until we hook up with…some others. Now, Maddie, get back in the Hummer and put on your damned body armor. I don't care if it's hot and itches. I don't want to have a dead body slung over the hood all the way back to Tikrit. It's cold and you'll appreciate the warmth once we get out on the open road."

Six hours later we broke for lunch. Mmm, MREs. Happy Turkey Day, everyone. No one bitched though. They were good troops and I was eating my nasty pork slices just like the rest of them.

The sky to the west looked strange and my interpreter muttered about sandstorms this time of the year so we mounted up and hauled ass at max speed toward the Syrian border. Our target was a group of commercial trucks hauling passengers and goods towards Baghdad. The stupid spies should have called for a Herky bird or a chopper if what they had was so damned important.

We met the trucks about the same time the sandstorm hit. It was a bad one and I walked forward to locate and identify our 'guests' and exchange passwords and get them into one of the Hummers. The Iraqi drivers all gave me dirty looks as they battened down the hatches, covered windshields and doors with tie down tarps. Finally I located our passengers.

The man was shorter than I was, wrapped up in robes and a headscarf and wearing sand goggles. His partner was a woman who had adopted native dress. At least I hoped she was his partner. Since I recognized the bastard, it wouldn't surprise me at all to find out he'd hired a whore to keep him company. Nothing Larkin did surprised me.

"So you're our ride? Good. Can you make the run in this weather? What we got is very time-sensitive."

"Yes, we're your ride. No, we can't make the run in this storm. Your native drivers know you can't drive in this. We learned that you can't drive in it. All you can do is hunker down and wait."

"Damn it, troop, this is important shit we've got. It's more important than any... Screw you. Get your sorry ass in your Hummer and get turned around and drive." He emphasized his point with a 9mm pistol.

I walked up to the command Hummer, my Hummer, and told the two soldiers and the reporter and her cameraman, excuse me, _videographer_, to deploy to another vehicle. As expected, Maddie bitched and refused. I leaned over and looked deep into her blue eyes.

"Maddie, honey, if you stay here you're likely to get a segment on 'Reporters Killed in Action'. Things are not what they seem to be. Now, haul your beautiful but disgustingly overpaid ass out of my vehicle and find another ride. I'll explain everything later."

"OK, Ell-Tee. I hear you. But baby, I want to have the full story once we get back to Baghdad. Maybe over dinner?" She was playing a role and I just snickered. Her attitude was playing right into my hands. Her palm caressing my cheek seemed to irritate the whore but hey, maybe the drought was over and I'd get to diddle a newsie?

"Dinner, honey? Is that all?" I was laying it on thick. Maybe I would get lucky. It all depended on whether or not I avoided being dead. "I don't know, Ell-Tee, maybe a special dessert? Maddie a la mode?" She laughed when I swatted her butt but she left.

Larkin and his partner heard every word.

After she left, I dogged the hatch and went forward to the command seat and radioed my other two vehicles. Even spaced 20 meters apart, reception was iffy.

"Our guests seem to think that being 'from the government' means that the sands will part for us and we'll be able to see to drive back to base. Explanations are falling on deaf ears. Here's the deal…"

A series of explosions up the road from us and a long string of automatic weapons fire interrupted my radio call.

"3rd Herd, this is Bartowski. Deploy along the roads. Lock down the Hummers. Maddie, you keep your beautiful butt in the ditch. Make sure you identify your targets. There are civilians in the buses and trucks. Fire only to defend yourselves." All our transmissions from vehicle to vehicle were carried by several wall-mounted speakers to ensure everyone heard.

I turned to my two guests. "Get out and into the ditch. Do not get back in the Hummer until we've suppressed the attackers. An RPG will ruin your whole day. Move it. I need to lock down and I'll meet you in the ditch."

Larkin and the whore scrambled out of the Hummer and I locked it down and grabbed my rifle and then bailed out and crawled into a ditch. I could see someone in the ditch and I prodded the lump with the muzzle of my rifle. The whore jumped and then turned and saw it was me and scuttled beside me and surprised the crap outta me by throwing her arms around me and squirming against me.

She was mumbling something in my ear but all I could hear was the sound of American rifles firing and the occasional whoosh of an RPG. The last Hummer in our column took a hit directly on the driver's door and I mentally wrote it off as transportation. A second RPG hit the engine compartment and underwrote my decision to write it off as a combat loss.

Out of the corner of my goggles I saw a figure aiming an RPG at my Hummer. Bastard! I fired several rounds at him but the goggles made a sight picture impossible so I just switched to 'oughtagethim' and let fly. The RPG round sailed up into the sky when I stitched a string of rounds across the Iraqi's torso.

I peeled the whore off and pushed her to the bottom of the ditch. While I was doing so, two of Habib's finest came my way and opened up at 5 meters and I caught a burst across the vest. Thank God for Kevlar and ceramic plates. All I got was the wind knocked out of me and I returned fire, hitting the one but missing the other. My last two rounds were tracers so I knew I needed to change magazines. Habib just rushed me, the bayonet on his AK-47 looking like a telephone pole pointed right at my heart. I fumbled for my 9mm and shot him three times just as he plunged the bayonet into my shoulder, pinning me to the wall of the ditch like a bug on a display.

God damn but that hurt and I guess I let loose a girly scream because the whore was suddenly pulling the impaling weapon out of me and throwing the AK aside. She fumbled at my LBE until she found my field dressing and got it on right and that surprised me.

The last thing I remember was the whore looking at me like I was chocolate cake and then leaning down and saying 'I love you, Bart. Never forget that' and then it got confusing. I heard Larkin telling my guys that they had one Humm-V and he had the other and that was fair. At least I think that's what I heard. I think I fell asleep because I woke up with my head in Maddies's lap while she ran her fingers over my face and looked at me like the whore had, like I was chocolate cake. Apparently she regained her humanity when she was in the ditch. I heard her news segment drew top ratings but I was on the way to Baghdad and I missed it.

* * *

Baghdad  
Green Zone  
Marriott Hotel  
8 days after the incident

"Y'know Chuck, I could really get used to this. I never knew 'embedded' would mean 'so well bedded'." She giggled and nipped at my neck, careful to avoid the surgical dressing.

"I go back to the unit in a week so you better get your fill, Maddie. I don't think they're going to let someone who 'professes her undying love' on international television back into the Hummer with the guy she told the planet she loved. What on earth possessed you to say such a thing? I got tons of shit from that. Tons!"

"Baby, it sent the ratings soaring. You lying there unconscious, covered in blood where that damned rifle stuck you, and me holding you and begging you not to die, that I loved you…" She'd been in the ditch with her Aussie and caught the entire thing on tape.

"So basically you lied to all those viewers? What happens when we don't hook up back in the world? Your credibility as a journalist will crater, sweetie, and you'll be back in Sheboygan doing the weather."

"Honey…it was the truth. I have feelings for you, Chuck, really. I think we'd make a great couple. We certainly 'coupled' nicely here, baby. I didn't realize it until I saw how you looked at that prostitute the agent had. I was so frikkin' jealous! That's when I knew. That was the moment of truth for me. Politics went out the window when we found you stuck in that ditch. I could love you, Chuck, really, I could."

* * *

Doc, that's it for now. Tired. Not as young as I used to be and it takes a lot out of me keeping up with these young hard chargers. Oh, yeah, sorry I didn't say it last time around but Merry Christmas.

C. Bartowski, Major

A/N: See companion piece. These are he said/she said chapters


	4. She Said 2

BartBurt4

**A/N: This is Sarah's 2nd session with the counselor and things are not all that great in Sarah-land. Chuck's doing his thing but she's being...Sarah. Follows He Said2 Read and let me know what you think. Read the A/Ns for He Said2 for questions. Also, I'm going to publish a 'glossary' for those of you who've never served. No shame, just filling in the definitions since I tend to use acronyms or common names of things soldiers use that you civilian types won't understand. **OK. Here I am. We need to make this quick. I have a 'date' for New Year's Eve and I need to go shopping for a gown. Please don't look at me like that. I'd be divorced if he wasn't where he is now. I could be divorced if he'd just sign the papers. There's no hope. We've become different people than the two who got married. Too much has changed. I'm back full-time with the Agency and I'm happy for the first time in a long time.

* * *

Sarah Said2

* * *

Fine. Back to the beginning. OK, 2003. Larkin and I were sent to Syria to try and locate and trace the WMD shipped there from Iraq back to their originating locations in Iraq. Some bonehead thought that if we could locate either the manufacturing or storage locations we could somehow prove their existence as well as possibly locate other caches.

We spent a month in Damascus and finally found a lead and followed it. We'd had to make some drastic changes in our appearance. I dyed my hair dark brown and used a vegetable stain to become darker skinned. I wore brown contact lenses only when required because they bothered me. We used traditional garb and I became his 'slave' for lack of a better term. We don't have one in English.

Bryce and I traveled the roads, listening, following up leads from the original one. Finally we located a storage bunker with some 122mm rockets that had chemical warheads – active chemical warheads. Bryce pulled the core from one, we noted the GPS location and then contacted our case officer.

We got on a truck traveling through Syria to Baghdad and headed out to rendezvous with some Army grunts who would provide us with transportation and an escort into safe hands. That was the plan, anyway.

We got stopped at an impromptu checkpoint and the head grunt and Bryce exchanged passwords and then things got hairy. Bryce pulled a weapon on the soldier and threatened him because he wouldn't drive us through a raging sandstorm. My partner was an asshole. This guy knew what he was talking about but Bryce being Bryce thought he knew better and basically hijacked the command vehicle.

We piled into the Humm-V and the officer in charge sent out the reporter and cameraman to another Hummer and then started issuing an op order when all hell broke loose. Some Sunni bandits were hitting the civilians and then started on the Army convoy.

He ordered his men to lock down the vehicles and disperse in a standard anti-ambush deployment. It was him. Bart. He said his name to add weight to his order. He said '3rd Herd, this is Bartowski…' and I saw his profile in the dim light of the vehicle lamps and it was him, my Bart. Before I could say or do anything, he ordered us out into the ditch and then got out himself.

Bryce ended up in a ditch on the other side of the road from me. I huddled down in the bottom, trying like hell to untangle my pistol from the cloth sack I had to carry it in. Bart poked me in the back with his rifle and said something but for just a moment I was back in that Florida foxhole and I threw myself on him, murmuring that I loved him and that I was sorry I ever left him.

Long story short, he shot one bandit and then the other but not before he got hit with a burst and then run through by a bayonet. The pain must have been incredible but he only whimpered and tried to pull it out. I jerked it out and found his field dressing and then a couple of his men and Bryce carried him to the remaining Hummer.

The damned cameraman caught us on tape and we had to leave in the other Hummer. I didn't know if he lived or died until I saw the CBS clipping of Madison Wainwright, covered in his blood, holding him in her lap imploring God and anyone else not to let the man she loved die. It made for good TV. I heard they got engaged or something but I think that was just some crap to boost ratings.

Something else. I told him I loved him. While I was putting on the field dressing in that ditch - I told him that I loved him and to never forget it. He looked so damned good but I had to go. The mission wasn't over. I don't know if he even knew it was his Burt. We never talked about that except one time years later when we were arguing and I threw Madison in his face.Bryce and I got to Baghdad and turned over our find and then boarded a transport for Spain and some well-deserved time together. I tried to forget him but I was haunted by the look on his face on the news clip. He looked like he was dying and there was blood everywhere. The cameraman got the right angle and captured his face and that of his 'lover'.

I know, I know, they weren't lovers then but they hooked up after he was sent to recovery in Baghdad and my sources confirmed he was OK. I was glad he was alive but jealous as hell that he was screwing the newsie's brains out. Yeah, Sarah Walker Bartowski, hypocrite. So what? At least I admit it. I was a hypocrite. I was sleeping with Bryce and judging him for sleeping with Madison. He never mentioned her. I had to. I threw it in his face years later in an argument because he was deploying again. I don't think he knew that I knew about them..

How did he react? He didn't. He just said 'That's cold, even for you, Walker. The woman is dead and buried. Let it alone. Don't you dare throw a dead woman in my face.' He walked out on me. God! That man drives me crazy. He doesn't argue fairly. He uses facts and he never yells. He just stares me down with those big brown eyes of his. I ask you, is that fair?

I didn't see him again after the Iraq ditch affair for a long while. He pulled another tour in Iraq and then went off the grid for a while. He was still in the Army but his status was 'classified' way beyond my clearances. I couldn't find out anything other than he was still in the Army and alive. I never planned on contacting him or anything like that. I just wanted to know that my Bart was still alive and well.

What? No, I didn't say that. No. I – he – no, I didn't mean 'my' like 'my' I just meant…don't put words in my mouth. It was a slip of the tongue, that's all. OK, TWO slips of the tongue but damn it that was then and this is now and nothing we're going to talk about is going to change what has happened.

Where were we? Yeah, OK. Bryce and I moved up the food chain a lot after finding those warheads. I don't know why nothing was ever done about them, why no one said 'Hey, the CIA found WMDs in Iraq' but that wasn't my call. I, OK, we just did our jobs.

* * *

After that we pulled assignments that got hairier and hairier until finally Bryce pushed his luck too far and ended up getting badly injured. He spent two months in the hospital and another two months getting back in shape at the Farm. I didn't want to just cool my heels waiting for him so I got myself a slot out at the Presidio and immersed myself in learning Pushtu since I figured after Iraq, Afghanistan would be next on our plate. It was a total waste of 3 months. We only got tasked into Afghanistan once, for a month, and we hardly ever left the embassy grounds.

We read intel reports from a confidential source. We got insights into the tribal mindsets and even into some of the identities and relationships in the Taliban forces. The quality of the information was excellent and…no, I never learned the source. It was hush-hush.

You're shitting me? Chuck? But we were told it was NSA source material and we figured it was from signals intel, sigint. When was he in Afghanistan and why?

Yeah, I'd really like to read his versions of how we met and got along. Is it allowed? Are they telephone transcripts? He emails stuff? Well, he never sent me squat except a yahoo email from a dead account telling me I could fool around all I wanted to but he'd die before he signed the divorce papers and that I'd be Sarah Bartowski for a long time.

Look, give me the copies and I'll read them and we can discuss the obvious differences at our next session. I need to buy a gown for New Year's Eve and I haven't started looking yet.

Don't give me that look. I told you when we started this farce that it was a waste of time and that I was back where I belonged. I'll take domestic tasking as a start but I will get back into the international scene. I was the best before I got mixed up with him and I'll be the best again.

No. I don't have a partner yet. The Agency is still trying to sort out the ideal profile before assigning me one. I just don't want to go deep cover as a companion or girl friend. I'm on the wrong side of 35 and it just wouldn't be right.

Being married has nothing to do with it. I – I – I just don't want to be a cheater, OK? He never cheated on me, never. I just can't do it to him now. Not after all these years. I just won't do it. If I were divorced, it'd be different but not until the idiot signs the damned papers. That's what I told the Agency and I meant it. No divorce, no spreading the legs for the greater good.

Have a happy New Year's, Doc. Maybe you'll get lucky.

* * *

NSA Monitoring Center

The General's aide watched in fascination as the General ripped the headphones off his head, pulled the plug out of the monitoring console and threw the headphones to the carpeted floor and stomped on them repeatedly while cursing all women but CIA-trained blondes in particular.

It was going to be a long evening. He hoped to get home at a decent hour but it didn't look like he'd see home for a while.

"General, your car's out front, your briefcase is packed and you're officially off duty for the next 48 hours. Your schedule is clear and the summaries are on your computer ready for review when you're ready."

"Take off, Fred. See ya in 48. Don't party too damned hearty. Bad for the image."

_'I need to remember that he has a wife and a new baby. He doesn't need to stand around waiting to hand me a tissue if I sneeze or pick up a pen if I drop it. He's a serving officer and he's learning all the wrong things on this stint. Maybe I should talk to Diane and see what tasks she had her aide doing. It's a waste of his time.'_

* * *

Casey Residence  
Bethesda, MD  
New Year's Eve

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number from a list he fished out of his pocket.

"Bartowski, secure."

"Chuck, John Casey. Just called to wish you a Happy New Year. How are things going? You're staying in base camp, right?" He could hear the whine of the Abrams' gas turbine and cursed his young friend for wanting to lead from the front.

"You wouldn't want me to lie to you, would you, General Casey, sir?" He could hear the humor in Chuck's voice. It made him feel less like a complete tool.

"No. But I do want you to promise me you'll watch your ass, young Major."

"What for, Casey? I mean, who gives a shit other than the President's National Security Adviser, you and my sister?"

"Chuck…"

"Yeah, I'm sorry, too. Things just suck all the way around for me right now. I suppose I'd feel a little less maudlin if I were heading out for the bright lights with a willing girl on my arm but hey, you got to play the hand you were dealt, right? Y'know, all those years ago, before Ellie's wedding…"

"Yeah?" There was a burst of static on the line. "Chuck? You still there?"

"Yeah. Well, you were right, John. I was just too stubborn to see it. No. I didn't _want_ to see it. Man, I was so sure of things back then. So confident and sure. The world was just waiting for me to bust a cap in its ass and start over with everything I ever wanted sitting beside me. Look, General Casey, we're coming up on the MLR and I got to have my head in the game. Happy New Year, Casey. Drink one for me. And if you see Sarah, tell her I signed the damned papers and will get them in the mail as soon as this mess is over."

"Wait, Chuck. Don't give up. Chuck?" Too late. He'd disconnected. And he'd given up.

He said a silent prayer for his friend and then dialed another number from memory.

"Sarah Walker, secure but in public."

"Walker, I just got off the phone with…with Chuck. He's heading into some shit but said to tell you he signed the damned papers and they'll be in the mail as soon as his unit disengages and is relieved. At least you'll have a Happy New Year."

"Casey, is he…" John Casey had hung up on her.

* * *

She paid for her purchases at the counter and left the liquor store and headed back to her apartment. Everything about her life lately was a lie. She didn't have a partner at the Agency. She didn't have a date for New Year's. She didn't have him home, safe and grinning, ready to toast the New Year and make love to her until they collapsed in each other's arms, exhausted.

"Ah, shit, Bart, where are you when I need you, baby?"

Her phone vibrated again and she read her text message. HNY BURT

She had her answer. He was always there when she needed him. She couldn't say the same. She started to text him back but stopped. What could she say? I LV U? I MS U? I NED U? Or how about THKS FR DVRS?

_'It's not too late. You don't have to turn in the paperwork. You can wait for him, meet him at the airport or the dock or wherever he comes home and tear up the papers and try again. You don't have to go through with it. You're still Burt and he's still Bart. Don't throw him away because of your damned pride.'_

I got into my car and drove back to my apartment. Reality sucked. I figured I'd mix a drink and read his sessions and see where we'd begun to drift apart. I had time to find my mistakes, our mistakes, before he got back.

I showered and changed into a comfortable nightgown and mixed myself a strong drink. All my drinks lately have been strong. My MasterCard bill looked like I was sampling all of DC's finer emporiums of booze. I spread out the pages of my husband's email responses to the counselor's questions and then stopped.

On a whim I dug out a few of our flash drives and started paging through the images of us in better times. I dug out my lockbox, kept on the shelf beside Chuck's. The movers had taken it along with mine when I'd moved out of our house out in the hills. I had a copy of his thumbprint saved for emergencies and I've never violated his privacy but was sorely tempted. I pressed my thumb against the digital reader and heard a 'click' and then opened my box.

There were 16 years of memories and documents in the box. And there, on top, was my Will and a letter I'd written to my husband when I still loved him. I started to cry.

_I still love him. It was a Freudian slip, nothing more. I still love my lover under the cover, and my husband. I do. _

I carried the box out to the table and started removing each memory. My glass was empty and I idly wondered how many I'd had but pushed the thought away. I didn't want to know. I poured myself another and added water and ice this time.

I removed my will and my 'last letter' to Chuck and then copies of our birth certificates, a DNA profile for each of us (in case a body required identification using extreme means) and our Nevada marriage license.

'_Burt, will you marry me, stay with me, and love me for the rest of our lives?'_

'_Ladies and Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bartowski.'_

'_Chuck, you be careful over there. I'll be waiting for you to come back to me whole and healthy. Stay out of the ditches and stay away from the reporters. You're too damned cute to resist and all those brunette TV skanks are probably lining up to hit on you. Seriously, Bart, watch your ass and come back to me. I love you, baby.'_

I removed the boarding passes for our flight to Tahiti, some pressed flowers from my lei and then his picture from the Ranger School website. There it was. My Ranger Tab. This is where it all started.

It was well after 4am when I ran into the bathroom, vomited and then fell into bed. Now I had the first clues about where things went wrong for us. My alcohol-clouded brain pummeled me with memory after memory and excuse after excuse.

'_ANOTHER damned call-up? I thought you told me you were in the inactive reserves now? I smell Beckman and Casey. Damn it, Chuck, I'm tired of waking up alone for a year every other year__**. I didn't marry you part-time.**__ This better be the last damned time you have to go!'_

'_Chuck, I have to go to Chicago with a client. You'll just have to have your birthday with Ellie. She could use the company. I imagine she's bored to death now that Devon's moved out.'_

'_You need to talk to someone about these damned dreams. You don't sleep enough and you keep me awake with your mutterings. We both have jobs to do and I can't do mine looking like I haven't slept in a week. Yeah, maybe you should sleep in the guest bedroom.'_

'_Chuck, I'm taking an assignment myself. We're short-handed and it'll only be for a couple of weeks, a month at the most. We can talk about stuff every day on the phone. A month at the most. It's very high profile and it'll mean a lot for my business. Besides, I need to keep my skills sharp.'_

'_I don't want a child. I have everything I need. I have a business to run and goals to meet. I don't have time for a family right now. Maybe not ever. Don't wait up for me, I'll be late again. And try and get some sleep, Chuck. You look like crap.'_

'_Chuck, this just isn't working out for me. I need more in my life. I can't be a damned camp follower and I'm tired of waking up alone. I'm going back to the Agency full-time. I've been working assignments for them since Burbank. I want a divorce. By the time you get this letter I'll have filed for divorce and be on assignment. It's over. Please, if you ever loved me, give me my freedom. Sign the papers and move on.'_

I fell asleep thinking **'_See, this is all his fault'._**


	5. She Said 3

BartBurt5

* * *

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).  
**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base  
**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.  
**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer  
**XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.  
**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.  
**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.

* * *

Tuesday

Hey, Doc. How was your New Year's? So, let's get started. Yeah, I read his 'version'. He always sees the best in people and ignores their faults. His world requires rose-colored glasses.

He got the facts right. I learned some things I didn't know but with my husband, what you see is what you get. I don't think he has a devious bone in his body. So have you received his next installment? I'd like to read them if I could.

Chuck's anal about being on time with things. Maybe he isn't in a place where he has access to email. The whole world isn't on WIFI, y'know?

OK. I went through some of my 'keepsakes' and I have my thoughts fairly organized. Ready?

Director Graham of the CIA, he's dead now, gave me instructions to establish a CIA presence in some hush-hush sci-fi operation involving putting intel directly into agents' brains. There were rumors that the NSA computer wizards had been messing around with human subjects and Graham wanted in on it.

I was originally tasked with going to FT Meade and dealing with the test program there but then Larkin surfaced after being off the grid for months. He broke into a high security facility and stole the 'intersect' and sent it to a friend of his in California. He got killed for his treason. I was under suspicion of helping him. Graham didn't believe it but Diane Beckman did and so I was told to 'go away'. I didn't know he'd been killed. I think they kept it from me to keep me off-balance.

Graham worked a deal and I flew out to California to interview the suspect and if he did have the computer thing in his head I was to either bring him in or kill him. I didn't know that the guy was already working for the NSA after a stint in the Army. All I knew was he was a potential threat to the greater good and the CIA wanted his help or his death.

I flew into LAX and was met by another agent who hand-delivered my briefing package. It included photos and maps and lists of associates, y'know, the usual pre-sanction packet. I almost threw up. The mark was my Bart! I called Graham and he confirmed my instructions but also ordered me to interview the mark and determine whether or not he could be 'useful' and to get back to him.

I picked up a Porsche from the Combine facility in LA and drove out to Burbank to his office to make the first contact. He and another Army buddy ran a full-range security service for businesses. They offered everything from guards to computer security audits and threat analyses. They were making money and had expanded their operation to cover all of California and Nevada. Bart handled the computer stuff and the other guy, John Casey, handled the physical security.

The building had seen better days, that's for sure. I parked and walked in to a lobby that had last seen a coat of pain in the 60s. Checking the registry, I took the elevator to the top floor and stepped out into the 21st century.

A gorgeous redhead sat at a chromium steel desk with the usual appointments. Behind her was the company logo, a fox with an M-16 guarding a henhouse. Cute. But effective.

"I'm here to see a Mr. Charles Bartowski. I don't have an appointment but it's very urgent that I speak with him."

"I'm sorry, he's not available at this time. I can take your name and number and have him call you or you can make an appointment." She clicked a few keys on her keyboard and looked at me expectantly. I felt something twist in my gut and I put my palms on the desktop and leaned over and glared.

"Get him on the phone or send him an email but tell him 'Burt from Benning' is cooling her heels in his damned lobby."

"Ma'am, he's unavailable. Really. I'd like nothing better than to have him here but he's…unavailable. Perhaps his partner, Mr. Casey, can help you?"

There was something in her manner that told me 'unavailable' meant just that. "Yes, I'll speak with Mr. Casey." Her sincerity sent my 'jealousy meter' into the red zone. Were they…together or something?

A few minutes later a tall older man with military bearing came out and took me back to his office. He introduced himself and then smiled, shearing years off his age and making him look almost friendly.

"So you're the mystical figure 'Burt' he talks about. I can see why he remembers you. I'm sorry, Ms. Walker, he's unavailable. I'll help you in any way I can. A friend of Chuck's is rare and automatically a friend of mine. Especially the 'Burt'."

"Where is he, Mr. Casey? It's urgent that I see him. It's personal but it's also business."

He sat down with a sigh and motioned me to do the same.

"Iraq. He'll be back here in about 4 or 5 days assuming he doesn't do something stupid like try and help the CIA - again."

"Mr. Casey, I…"

"John, Burt, John to my few friends. Or you can call me Casey. Or Major Casey, NSA."

My jaw must have hit the floor because he actually laughed!

"Well, then, John, call me Sarah Walker, CIA…" And now I laughed. I felt like crying but I laughed instead.

"Thought so. It's about the damned email he got from Larkin, isn't it? He's your partner according to our intel. He's dead. He just had to screw Chuck over one last time though, didn't he? OK. So what do you want with Chuck?"

"Larkin's dead? When? How?" I was near tears. Bryce was dead and no one thought to tell me. Damn the CIA!

"He got popped right after he blew up an NSA facility and killed three civilians. He sent the intersect to Chuck but the nerd wasn't here and his email was forwarded to Iraq. He was in the hospital for tests for a few days afterward. He went into shock and was unconscious for 10 hours. Lucky for us he was in the FOB when he read the damned thing."

"But he's OK, right? I mean, he's…"

"He's fine but he's far from OK. He's got half of the NSA pissed at him and the CIA has someone gunning for him. That someone wouldn't be you, would it?" The door behind me opened and two guys in suits entered and stood quietly. Apparently Chuck was a high value asset. Casey must have triggered an alert or alarm.

"I didn't know it was him until I got the briefing packet at LAX this morning. I will never do anything to harm him. I've been in love with him since the Florida swamps. I'd quit before I'd let him be hurt."

He gestured to the suits and I heard the door quietly close. "Good, because he's passed up a lot of ladies waiting for you to finally show your face. Don't be a bit surprised if he's shy and…he's not been around the block as often as you or I've been."

"Oh, I don't know. I saw him work his evil ways on Maddie Wainwright. I figured they'd be engaged or married by now." If he's married I'll tear him away from her. He's mine. I saw him first.

"She was killed right after Chuck got out of the hospital that tour. An IED. He was ordered to return with her body as 'escort'. I think he stayed drunk for the entire week just to avoid the press and the BS but he reported back and served the rest of his tour and then extended for another one but it got abbreviated and he ended up in my clutches. He's my partner in crime here at the LA Station."

"He's NSA?" Oh, shit. And Graham wants him sanctioned? Don't the agencies ever talk to one another?

"No, not exactly. He's Army but he's 'on loan' except for when he hears the damned bugles blowing then he hares out and plays 'Commander' for a while. No, that's not fair. He's the CO of an infantry company and when they deploy, he goes with them. It's cumbersome but he ends up spending most of the year with them but enough time back here to keep Auntie Diane happy. So far, at least."

"Auntie Diane?" And I thought the CIA was strange.

"General Diane Beckman, our boss and the Director of the NSA. Chuck refers to her as 'Auntie Diane' since the time…never mind. Best forgotten by all. So, what are you intentions, Burt?"

"Well, Sarah Walker is supposed to determine if Charles Bartowski is a threat to the nation whereas Burt wants to spend some quality time with him and then maybe drag him to the altar some day."

"Agents shouldn't fall in love, Agent Walker. Chuck's an agent and so are you. It won't be easy."

"Nothing worth anything is easy, Major Casey. We're worth it. So tell me what he's been doing if you can?"

* * *

Later that night I called my boss, Director Graham and gave him my report. I requested assignment to the intersect team and he readily agreed. I spent the next 3 days cleaning my new apartment, buying sundries and getting ready to entertain Bart in as much splendor and luxury as I could manage.

Casey invited me along to meet Chuck's plane. I figured he was flying in commercial and told him I'd meet him at LAX and he laughed.

"He's been in the air 19 hours. He flies back and forth with his company. We'll drive out to the airbase and meet him. There's a change of command ceremony and then some speeches and then we get to see the man of the hour. Wear something nice. I want to see the look on his face when he finally sees 'Burt' for the first time since Benning."

"He saw me in Iraq but didn't recognize me. He thought I was a whore Bryce brought along for 'cover with benefits'. I couldn't say much to him since we were in a firefight and then he got hurt. I know he doesn't know it was me."

"He does. He told me what you said to him. He was awake just having trouble keeping his eyes open. I should warn you though. One of the main reasons he was drunk was because he finally figured out you were with Bryce. Oil and water, those two."

"Why?" I shouldn't have asked. Casey got steamed and went on a tear about screwing his fiancé and then trying to have him expelled from Stanford with some bogus cheating rap that Chuck finessed.

"He was engaged? For how long?"

"He got engaged after he couldn't find you. He looked, believe me, but he didn't have many tools. He met a girl, he'll never admit she was his rebound girl, and he got engaged. She started screwing his room mate, Bryce Larkin, and he caught them. Tore Bryce up and broke his arm and a lot more."

"He doesn't seem the violent type but I saw him gun down two Iraqis and then take a bayonet through the shoulder with hardly a whimper. He's surprising sometimes."

"Sometimes? He's full of surprises and he trots them out at some of the most inconvenient times."

"So he's not seeing anyone?"

"The receptionist is an occasional date when business requires it. She'll make a fine office manager or a field representative some day. It's nothing serious and they both know it. Sometimes we need escorts for social functions and neither of us date so…"

I shut up. I had what I needed. Basically he was a monk. Good. I liked him all fresh and virginal. My God, I sounded like a pervert!

* * *

The plane landed and Chuck was the last one off. The troops all formed up and Chuck made a short speech about 122 going over and 122 coming back and that was about the most praise a commander could receive. He dismissed them with the warning that they had a formation Monday morning for some final details before beginning their 30-day leave.

The men scattered about trying to find their loved ones and he just sat down in one of the folding chairs, lit a cigarette and looked up at the sky. Casey pushed me toward him with a smirk and told me to have him 'presentable' by Monday and then he'd see us in Burbank.

"And just how do I get us back to Burbank? My car is at the apartment."

"He's already got that covered, Burt. Be good to him. He's had a rough year." He laughed and left. I suddenly realized that he'd never intended to see Chuck at all. It was just a way to ensure that I got to see him.

I walked over to where he was sitting and looked up at him. "Hey, you. Remember me?"

He looked down at me with the strangest look on his face. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and then recited a shocking litany of facts.

"Hello, Agent Sarah Walker, CIA. Where's your partner, the infamous RatBastard also know as Bryce Larkin? Are you here to execute a sanction? I'm unarmed so it shouldn't be too hard. Go ahead. I really don't care."

"Bart, it's me, Burt. I've been waiting for you and now you're here and I'm here and I'm on your team. We can be together and work together and the future looks so bright. Aren't you going to at least give me a hug?"

"And then what? I'll wake up and you'll be gone?"

"No, Numbnuts, you'll wake up and I'll be curled up beside you. C'mon, Bart, don't be an idiot. I told you how I feel twice now and you haven't even looked me in the face."

"Twice?"

"Once in Columbus, but you were asleep and the other time was in a ditch in Iraq after you got run through with that Habib bayonet. I told you I loved you and always would. I can't lie to you, Bart. I can lie to almost anyone else but never to you. I love you, baby, and I'm dying here not knowing if I made a mistake and committed to something you don't want anymore."

He looked at me and smiled, not his full blown smile, no. This smile was different. It was tight and quick and had just the hint of humor in it. I was growing more uncertain by the minute.

He took out his phone and hit speed dial and a few digits and then spoke rapidly and with authority.

"This is Capt. Bartowski. I need a lift for two to the main gate. I'm at the airfield. How long?"

He disconnected and speed dialed another number.

"This is Captain Bartowski. I'm on file. I need the usual at the main gate in 30 minutes. You have my card and license and insurance information on file. Cross reference Fox and you'll have what you need. 30 minutes? Good."

"What are your plans between now and Monday afternoon, Agent Walker?"

"Um, I don't have any. I also don't have any clothes other than what I'm wearing. Why?" I knew he had to be here through Monday for Army stuff.

"I'd like to take you out to the house and spend some time getting reacquainted. It's been a while, Burt." He looked expectant and sad, like he thought I was going to say no.

"Yeah, Bart. More than three years."

"Three years, three months and 6 days, but who counts?"

I couldn't help it. I ran to him and threw myself into his arms and kissed him for the first time in three years, three months and 6 days. It was like I'd never left the hotel in Columbus.

"Hey, I stink. 20 hours in the same uniform. Let's hold off the greetings until I'm clean and don't smell like Iraq and diesel fuel, OK?"

"All I smell is the guy I love. Live with it. Do you think I can wait for you to get cleaned up before doing this a few more times?" The kiss was interrupted by a horn and an enlisted man giving a wolf whistle. Suddenly Chuck was a captain again.

"Specialist, keep it professional or I'll run you around this airfield until I get tired. Now apologize to the nice lady from the 'Greeters Club' and let's be on our way." He grabbed his duffle bag, weapon and briefcase and hauled me over to the staff car. The Specialist just rolled his eyes and smirked.

"Ell-Tee, you know you'd never do that to me. I saved your life back in the shit. We're blood brothers now."

"How's the wife, Jerome? Treatments working? Last I heard she was home."

"Yeah, Ell-Tee. You got us the good stuff. You and the Army done us right. I just wish I could have gone with you this time."

"Bullshit. You needed to be here. I needed a liaison to keep us supplied and to do our errands. Worked out well for all of us."

"Next time, I'm going with ya. Someone's got to watch your back. You can't trust those Habibs to take you out and bring you back, Ell-Tee. One of these days you're going to get lit up and you'll thank me for being there."

"Let's go, specialist. I stink and need a shower."

Sarah enjoyed watching Chuck the Commander work with his troops. He had a gift for making them all feel special.

"So when did you two become blood brothers, Chuck?"

"The ditch. He and the others all chipped in, right? Thank the gods we were all A+ ".

"Yeah. Miss Wainwright gave too, Ell-Tee. Only the Aussi had a bad blood type. You and your 6Ps worked it's magic again. Lucky for you. You was bleeding like a stuck pig."

"6Ps?"

"Yes, ma'am. The 6Ps. Bartowski's First Law. Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance. He made sure each vehicle crew had the same or compatible blood type in case something happened like happened to him."

No one said anything else during the trip to the gate.

"Chuck, this is your 'rental'?" It was a Chevy Suburban. Not at all what I figured he'd drive.

"Yeah. Like being in something big and surrounded by steel. Makes me feel safe."

* * *

His 'house' was a rambling ranch-style with a pool in a walled compound. I counted 4 bedrooms while I was there and I saw that the kitchen table was covered with business cards and small envelopes that hadn't come in the mail.

"What's this, Chuck? Ladies leaving their cards for you?"

"Notice that each of the cards has a corner bent up? That's military tradition when reporting in to a new CO or commander or visiting a post on business. The spooks all show up here at one time or the other during officers' call and they leave their cards. Courtesy."

"And the little envelopes?" I noticed that all of them were addressed in a feminine hand and there were few duplicates.

"I open the house during the summers to the local ladies and their kids. Most military families can't afford a place like this and the post pool is nasty so they have the run of the place when I'm gone. Those are 'thank you' cards."

"Apparently, they use it when you're here, too." I was looking out the French doors at a redheaded woman sunbathing in a bikini that was skimpy and seemed to have come sans top.

I watched him but he didn't turn around. "That's Carina Hansen. You'll meet her husband on Monday if you're still around. He's my XO and a great all-around guy. She's the problem. Can't keep her damned libido under control." There was almost as much distaste in his voice for the Hansen woman as there was when he talked about Bryce.

"She didn't meet him at the plane? That seems cold."

"Hansen flew in a couple of days ago with the advanced party. He's running the show while I take a few days off. Commander's perk."

"And is she a 'commander's perk'?" It slipped out, Doc, I swear it. I wasn't being deliberately catty but he hadn't even turned around and he knew she was there. Can you add? 2+2= 'he was screwing her'.

"She keeps the place clean and orderly and makes sure no one takes the TV or has a wild party here when I'm not in residence. In exchange, she gets full run of the place but that doesn't include me servicing her at stud, Agent Walker."

"Baby, I'm sorry. That just slipped out. I'm jealous, OK? I know it's hypocritical but I am. Even though you've been a monk and I've been screwing the world for the greater good, I'm jealous, OK?"

"OK. One question though. Do you love Bryce Larkin?"

"'Did' would be the proper tense, Chuck. He's dead."

"I would love you even after death, 'Burton, J'. So 'did' you love him? I'm no one's rebound guy."

"Yeah, but not the forever kind like I feel for you. We were together two years but he knew from the start that my heart was with my Bart and no one else."

"I believe you. But I have to be honest with you. I find the thought of you and Larkin making love sickening. It'll take me a while to get over the resentment I feel right now. Can you understand that? Can you deal with it?"

"We never made love, Chuck. We just had sex. I never made love with anyone but you. Never. And I'll be as patient as possible but I'm not known for my patience."

"Make us some coffee while I send Carina back to her lair. She'll put the word out that the house is off-limits so you won't have to worry about tripping over wives and kids all weekend if you decide to stay."

Doc, did I ever tell you how stubborn and…and stubborn he can be? He honestly expected me to run again in the face of a little discomfort. He can be so damned aggravating. He doesn't have any faith in anyone. He's on his guard with women because we've all betrayed him somehow, everyone except Ellie.

Did I stay the weekend? Oh, God, yes. And Monday morning when he got up he could barely stand up straight. Later that night we drove up to L.A. and spent the next few days recovering at my apartment and then, although he was technically on leave, he went to work while I developed a cover job so I could explain my presence in his life.

* * *

Everything was going great. Chuck had moved in and we were a couple. I met his sister and we soon became what neither of had in our lives, a girl best friend. She was incredibly supportive of us as a couple and she often moaned about how her own love life was on 'sputter' since her boyfriend of the month was making 'I don't want to get serious' noises.

The redhead at the desk became the exclusive date for Casey. When Chuck needed an escort, he took me, of course. We ran ops and were extremely successful. Between Casey and I and the thing in his head, we were fast becoming the most effective intel action team in the US.

My 'cover business' worked out perfectly and I also followed the Fox's lead and expanded to Nevada, specifically Las Vegas. I had a corporate apartment there and Chuck and I spent the occasional weekend in Vegas for both relaxation and business. I could tell he wanted more from 'us' and often caught him watching the newly weds in the casinos with a look I could only define as 'yearning' on his face but he never pushed me. Not once.

But trouble soon came to paradise and I brought it all on myself. I was stupid and it almost broke us apart. I know, I know, it was my own damned fault. I almost got him killed because of my ambition and pride.

Look, Doc, it's late and I'm not really ready to talk about the next time. Please, call me when you hear from him?

Yeah, I'll see you Thursday but call me if you hear from him, please?

* * *

I walked to my car in the medical plaza parking lot and cried for 15 minutes before feeling in control enough to drive back to my apartment at the Watergate. I hated it. I hated why I had a DC apartment in the first place. I hated, really hated, Bryce Larkin, and I hated Sarah Walker.

I don't want the divorce. I _have _to have a divorce. I have no choice. Things have gotten too far out of control and try as I might, I can't shift the blame. I need a drink.

'No, what I really need is my husband back here where he belongs not running around the countryside saving Korea. We just need to sit down and talk, really talk. I've made some mistakes and he's been distant, disconnected, and that hasn't helped. We need some together time to just quietly talk, preferably in bed holding on to each other like we used to. We can solve this problem and put it behind us if we can just be alone together.'


	6. She Said 4

BartBurt6

* * *

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).

**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base  
**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.  
**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer**  
XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.  
**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.  
**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.  
**TDY (not Tidy…Tee Dee Why) **Temporary Duty

* * *

Thursday

You didn't call me when you got Chuck's email, Doctor. May I please see them?

He's overdue and you didn't think to call me?

No. I'm not in the mood to discuss the life and times of Bart & Burt. I'm worried about him. He's never missed a commitment date in his life, never! I need to talk with his boss. I'll be back later if I can find the time.

* * *

I stomp through the puddles in the parking lot. The cold winter rain splashes against my umbrella and I can feel the backs of my legs getting wet and the rain is dripping down into my boots. I hate this weather.

Sitting in my car in the rain, I swallow my pride and call John Casey, our closest family friend. I'd call Ellie but I don't want to listen to her rant at me about what a callous and heartless and slutty bitch I am. I've been telling myself that for the past two weeks.

"Casey, secure. What do you want this time, Walker?"

"Where's Chuck? He missed two commitment dates and that's not like him at all."

"He wasn't specific on when he'd be mailing the signed paperwork to you. Maybe he sent them to his attorney or to yours, ever think of that?"

"He doesn't have an attorney, Casey, because he's ignored the whole thing. Ignore it and it'll go away. Well, I need to speak with him. Please, John, I really need to talk with him if just for 2 minutes. I want to know that he's all

right. I'm worried. He's missed emailing his counseling notes. That's not like him."

"That's on a need to know basis, Ms. Walker, and you have no need to know. Please don't abuse what little regard I have for you by trying to get to him through me. Haven't you done enough damage? Remember Vegas? You weren't married _then_."

"Please…please, I want to talk to him, John, please?"

* * *

He disconnected and looked at his cell in disgust. _I wonder if Fred can block her number? I can't figure out all this high tech crap._

* * *

Vegas. He would have to bring up Vegas at a time like this. OK, so there are parallels but I was working for both the CIA and the NSA team and the CIA had first call on my services.

I walk back up to the counselor's office and plop down in my chair. I am wet and chilled but I want to get this said and done.

I'm ready to talk if you're ready to listen. This is hard for me so don't get on my case about stopping and starting. I hate this time in my life far more than any other time except for maybe right now.

The bodyguard/escort service I started as a cover had expanded to Las Vegas. I found myself spending more time there than I wanted to because I couldn't find a person to manage it. I requested an 'at-large' agent from any of the agencies and they sent me a string of losers. Finally I hired a sharp receptionist that I hoped I could train to take over the day-to-day operations and shift some of the burden from L.A.

I was in Las Vegas cleaning up yet another administrative mess when Director Graham contacted me.

There was an operation in progress to secure a major seller of US intel gleaned from sources within the intelligence community through extortion, bribery and other usual means. He was in Las Vegas and I was tasked with locating him and luring him to my apartment so that a capture team could pick him up without alerting any of his network operatives. We'd sweat out the names of the moles and roll the whole network up in one night and then turn him to our advantage.

"But Director, this is my apartment, mine and Chuck's. Can't I…"

"Agent Walker, you work for the damned CIA. Do you damned job or I'll find someone else to feather your cushy little love nest and reassign you to the Balkans."

I got a briefing packet via email and started my planning. I called Chuck and told him the mess was bigger than I thought and that I'd need at least a couple more days to wrap it up but that I'd make it up to him. I was rushed and cut him off saying 'I love you, baby, but I got to run'. If I'd listened, it would have been different but I was wrapped up in pure agent mode and the job came first.

He wanted to tell me that he was leaving for a 90-day TDY in Afghanistan to work with some locals and build up an intel network against the remaining Taliban fighters. He was about to board a plane to Vegas and spend the nights with me and then leave on Monday or Tuesday. Since I didn't listen and he didn't get to tell me, it was a big surprise – for both of us.

I got the mark back to my apartment but the capture team was having troubles and I had no choice but to initiate seduction and hope I could trank him before I had to do the dirty deed. I excused myself to 'slip into something more comfortable before you slip into me' and called and confirmed the ETA of the team as 20 minutes. I could stall him 20 minutes at least.

He and I were on the couch and he had me down to a smile when Chuck walked in. Two minutes later the capture team came in

It happened so fast that all I could remember was the mark suddenly disappearing from between my legs and his slobbering face replaced by a devastated Chuck.

The guy started yelling and Chuck kicked him really hard in the crotch and hit him a few times and then picked him up and started for the balcony doors. Our apartment was on the 4th floor and I knew he was going to throw him out and hope he hit the pool or maybe he didn't care, I don't know.

The capture team hit Chuck with a trank dart just as he lifted the unconscious mark over his head to throw him over the railing. They carried the mark out the back way and disappeared leaving me with a tranked boyfriend and partner who was going to wake up pissed and demanding an explanation.

I went into the bathroom and scrubbed myself raw trying to get the stink of the mark off my skin. I didn't want to give him any more reasons to be pissed at me. I don't know how long I was in there but when I came out, Chuck was gone. No note, nothing. He was just gone.

I called his cell a hundred times that night and I left a voicemail every damned time. I explained the situation, that it was purely work, but he never called me back. I don't know whether he listened to my voicemails or not. I filled his entire voice mailbox with my messages and he never once returned a call.

I flew back to LA and rushed home to our apartment but it was empty of anything that remotely suggested that anyone other than me lived there. He didn't leave one stinking item of personal clothing or even dirty clothes in the hamper. He cleaned 'Chuck' out of my life better than any NSA cleaner team could ever have done.

* * *

I got to Chuck's office earlier than normal and Casey was already there, sitting at Chuck's desk in conference with General Beckman and Director Graham. Casey wouldn't look at me or even acknowledge that I was in the room. I heard General Beckman raise her voice and tell the Director that 'Agent Walker worked for the NSA first and exclusively' as far as she was concerned as long as she was part of Team Intersect and that tasking her to perform such a task undermined the Team.

"General, she was there, she's done it many times before, she knew that having sex with the mark was part of the plan and it was a damned good thing that the team tranked the crazy son of a bitch before he could throw the mark off a fourth story balcony."

"Director, either she's exclusively Team Intersect or she's out. There's no room for divided loyalties or dual functions on this operation. Decide now or I'll cut the CIA off the intel gravy train."

"She stays, damn it. It was a legitimate operation and we rolled up a series of leaks and identified and detained several moles in various departments. It had to be done. Any personal problems are merely collateral damage and can be handled over time. My God, Diane, it's not the first time she's fucked someone for her country!"

Doc, I need a break. I – I remember screaming at the Director that Bart wasn't anyone's collateral, that he was the man I wanted to marry and the son of a bitch laughed at me. I put a knife into his image on the screen and that was the end of the conference. I think I saw General Beckman smile while I was ranting but I'm not sure.

Anyway, Chuck was gone. Casey wouldn't tell me where except that he was TDY to Afghanistan and had planned on spending his last days with me if time permitted. I remember him clearly saying that 'the moron is in love and will settle for just being in the same room with you'.

I walked out in tears and the receptionist smiled and handed me a note and muttered, 'Casey will kill me for sure so don't tell him I told you'. She was my instant best friend. The note said that Chuck was on post, probably sleeping at the house.

* * *

I don't remember the drive out there. I don't remember threatening to cut off Carina's boobs if she didn't get her half-naked ass out of his house and I don't remember ambushing him in the shower.

All I remember from the first night is the begging. I begged him to forgive me. I begged him to give me a second chance. I begged him to understand that I was doing my job as a CIA agent. I pleaded with him to at least yell at me, tell me that I was a disgusting whore who fucked for her country. I begged him to at least look at me, to acknowledge my existence.

He didn't say a single thing to me that entire night. We lay in bed, side by side, and we stared at the ceiling until he had to get up and go on duty. I stayed in that bed for hours waiting for him to come home. I was prepared to do anything he wanted if he'd just look at me and talk.

Jerome, the nice guy who drove the staff car when I met Chuck at the airfield, called me and asked me if I would mind driving over to the Officers' Club because "the Ell Tee will kill me if he knows I called you to get him. Can you just 'bump into him'?"

Chuck's not a drinker. He was that night. Jerome told me he'd bumped into the 'Ell Tee' earlier in the day and he was worried because 'the Ell Tee, he don't normally walk around wearing a service pistol unless he's going to use it. And we don't leave for the shit for another two days, Miss Burt.'

I thanked Jerome, told him his secret was safe with me, asked about his wife and then drove to the Officers' Club. I was determined that he wasn't 'going into the shit' without us settling this.

It was deserted and it was dark and gloomy, probably because it was past closing time but the NCO running it stayed open until someone could fetch the Ell Tee. He wasn't going to let him be 'MP bait'. He'd been Chuck's Supply Sergeant 'over in the shit' and worried about his commander.

"You need me to follow you home and help get him in the house?"

"No, thanks. I'll manage. He's not a drinker, is he?"

"Nope, not a talker, either. Hasn't said more than a word or two all night. He sure made a dent in the tequila tonight. Last time he got drunk was in Iraq when we lost some guys. The Captain took it real personal. He's a good man to work for."

He looked me straight in the eye.

"And someone's going to take him away from you if you don't take care of business, missy. He don't take much maintenance. Just pat him on the head and don't judge him. Love him and feed him until it's time to go kill something and be there when he gets back. Repeat the cycle again. That's all soldiers really need. Crying shame it is. Damned crying shame."

* * *

I woke up the next morning in his arms and aware of his stare. I started to cry and he just held me like I'd disappear if he let me go. I don't know how long I cried but it transitioned into more begging and pleading. Finally, he said something.

"Enough."

That was all. Enough. It wasn't the word. It was how he said it, the emotion he packed into it and the look on his face. I'd been forgiven.

He left on the evening of the 2nd night, wobbly from being ravaged countless times by a woman who wanted to keep him locked in the bedroom, hidden away from the Army and never let him get in harm's way again. But I couldn't do that. Instead, I hung on him the whole time he wasn't making love to me. I fed him and loved him and kissed him goodbye and told him that I'd be waiting for him when he got back.

It was like Dickens wrote my story. 'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.' He was gone for two months. They were some of the longest nights of my life.

* * *

Casey and I had to work together. We had no choice. We were partners in name only though. We both felt Chuck was our only partner. Surprisingly, General Beckman turned out to be my biggest supporter. After a video conference had concluded, she asked me to remain behind.

"Now, Agent Walker, it's time to fish or cut bait. I can't have the nation's premiere domestic counter-terrorism team fractured into camps so I'll be blunt: What are your intentions regarding your future with Team Intersect? Director Graham does not support your continued participation maintaining that your 'interest' in Captain Bartowski is tantamount to a declaration of compromise."

"Ma'am, I follow orders. What happened in Las Vegas was the result of a poorly planned and last minute operation that should never have involved Team Intersect but I do report to Director Graham and I have to follow his orders."

"And your 'interest' in Agent Bartowski? Oh, don't look so surprised. He's been an agent in my mind for quite some time. All he lacks is the formalities of the Farm and then our extended technical skills courses. I rarely use the title because it rankles him and Major Casey. They both think of themselves as soldiers first. So, your 'interest'?"

"Um, uh, well, we've known each other since Ranger School and…"

"I know all that, Agent Walker. 'Bart and Burt', of course. Do you intend to see this assignment through to its end?"

"Yes." I hope she meant what I thought she did.

"Good. Director Graham has received instructions that you are now under the administrative control of the NSA as long as Project Omaha is active. That means, Agent Walker, that you are to ignore any orders that conflict with the operations of Team Intersect. Understand?"

"Yes, General. Thank you for clarifying my position with Director Graham. It's difficult serving two bosses."

Beckman snorted. "Difficult? More like impossible. See to it, young lady, that there are no repeat performances like Las Vegas. Our agenda is made difficult enough with his occasional stints into war zones. At least Casey has reined in his martial tendencies but Bartowski's skills make him useful in both venues. That is all, Agent Walker. Try and keep things 'normal' for a while between you?"

She disconnected and I was happy that the 'two masters' issue had been resolved.

* * *

You asked me why I have DNA screens for both Chuck and I and I never answered.

On Day 43 I got a call from the General's aide to report to the Fox office for a video conference. When I got there, Rachel the Redhead was holding back tears and when she saw me she lost it entirely. You know that little nagging feeling you get when you drive past a horrific car wreck? Well, I had butterflies and crows flying around in my stomach.

I rushed into the conference room and sat down beside Casey and another agent I'd never met but who had provided us with support on complicated ops before. I nodded to him in greeting but he just turned toward the screen. The NSA screensaver logo floated across the screen replaced by the General's stern image.

"It's been confirmed, Major Casey. They were hit by a surface to air missile and the chopper crashed into the mountain pass. It didn't explode, but the other chopper came under fire and had to leave the area. It was unarmed and flew the route with the Blackhawk as a familiarization flight only."

"Any word on when the ground troops will get there?"

"It's pretty deep in the mountains. They'll do an air assault in the next valley and then work their way over to the crash site. Satellite imagery is useless due to fog and snow. It's nasty weather and that's another complication. I'll keep you informed on the progress of the recovery mission."

She paused and looked straight at me and said, "I'm sorry for your loss, Sarah." She's sorry for my loss? What loss? I couldn't think. I couldn't say anything. I couldn't breathe and then the whole office turned on its side and spilled me out of my chair onto the carpet.

Somehow I got back to our apartment but I have no idea what I'd done.

I went into Fox to speak with Casey the next morning and he was busy shutting down the operation.

"You'll revert to CIA control with the cessation of operations. There's no Operation Omaha or Team Intersect without Bartowski. There's a memorial out at the post on Wednesday and I'd like to accompany you if you don't mind. It's the least I can do for the moron. Damn him! He just wouldn't stay in the office. No. He had to be out there with the troops. Stupid idiot. He's supposed to be an administrator, that's all. He's not supposed to be running around in the mountains talking with the locals."

It was the most upset I'd seen Casey until last month when…well, you know, when all this started.

"Have they recovered any…remains, Casey?"

"They tried but the Taliban were too well entrenched and there was no point in losing more guys trying to recover bodies. The Air Force plastered the wreckage with bombs to destroy any confidential intel and materials so even if they could recover 'remains' it would be impossible to identify them."

That's when I subconsciously decided to get the DNA scans so that, if in the event of a miracle, he'd never have to go through what I was going through.

The fucking _ARMY_ informed Ellie Bartowski that her brother was missing and presumed dead in an air 'accident' in the mountains northeast of Kabul. They told Ellie and she called me and between us we cried buckets and drank a lot of wine and told each other a lot of lies. OK, I told her lies.

Five days later they recovered bodies and confirmed that Capt. Charles Bartowski was dead.

I bought a black dress. I still have it since I've gone to more than one memorial service and funeral since we got married. Too damned many. I wore it out to the post and Casey wore his uniform and decorations and looked like some caricature in a movie.

I looked around the crowd out on the parade ground for Jerome or someone I might know and saw Carina Hansen with a tall uniformed man. She saw me at the same time and dragged her husband over to meet us. It was awkward to say the least. Here I was hugging and crying as she hugged and cried. Both of the men looked at each other and something passed between them. Casey peeled me off her and we took our seats.

"Casey, I don't see Jerome or his wife."

"He was with Chuck. She's in the hospital. Can't handle the stress with her chemo."

"Oh."

On the drive back to L.A. Casey asked me what I planned to do next. I had no plans. I had no future. I never answered him. I think he understood because he never repeated his question.

* * *

Director Graham found great satisfaction in telling me that I was on 2 weeks' leave and then I was to report to the Farm for assignment. I nodded and broke the video connection and began packing my life up and preparing to move. I had no idea what I was going to do with 2 weeks' leave but I spent the first week just sitting around crying and looking at all the pictures of us with our friends in happier times. I know I spent a lot of time drinking to drown my sorrows. It didn't help then anymore than it does now but it was something…

The CIA would take over Guardian Angels. It was making money and I'd pick up a nice chunk of change from the transfer. I didn't care. The last thing I packed was my lockbox. I didn't know if Chuck had one. I figured Ellie would be given it after it was opened in DC and cleared of anything sensitive.

Two NSA agents knocked at the door, identified themselves and asked me to accompany them. We drove downtown to an office building and went through checkpoint after checkpoint before they escorted me into a conference area. As I sat waiting, two more agents came and asked me for my apartment keys. They'd been assigned to transfer my personal effects.

"What? Where to? And why the NSA? I'm CIA now."

"Orders from the top, Agent Walker. Your keys, please?"

After what seemed like an interminable length of time, I'm not known for my patience, the screen flickered and there were the General and Director.

"Agent Walker, good evening. You will be escorted to the airport and flown here to DC. You are not in any trouble, none at all. Your participation in Project Omaha and in Team Bartowski terminated prematurely. Your participation is required and fully expected, understood, Agent Walker?"

Director Graham looked like he'd swallowed a bug. The General looked 'smug'.

"Ma'am?" I was totally confused.

"Walker, you're NSA again until…well, you're reporting to Diane until further notice." His side of the screen blanked out.

"I'll see you in my office in 8 hours, Agent Walker. Have a restful flight. You'll need it."

I have no idea, Doctor, how long I sat there. I don't even know what I was thinking or if I was thinking. I was in a holding pattern with no place to go.

"Agent Walker, we're ready to take you to the airport. Your plane is waiting and you'll be met at BWI and escorted to your final destination. Your luggage has been loaded already and all they need is you. Let's go, Sarah."

It was one of the NSA'a business-class jets and I was the only passenger. If there was a flight attendant, I never saw one.

I slept fitfully on the plane. Too many dreams. Dreams of us in better times. Dreams of me waking a screaming Chuck from one of his damned nightmares. Dreams of me holding our baby.

One of the pilots came back and gently woke me, pointing to the travel bag on the seat beside me and in the general direction of the restroom.

"You'll want to change clothes, Agent Walker. We'll be on the ground in 40 minutes and you'll be met by an escort. Good luck."

Two NSA agents met me at the jetway and whisked me away through security to a waiting Suburban. I was unfocused and listless and watched the traffic and the surrounding buildings whiz by until I saw us begin to exit the beltway at the Walter Reed Medical Center exit.

I tried to ask the agents why we were here as they escorted me through another check point and then into an elevator but they weren't talking.

"Y'know, this is just plain rude, guys. I'm an agent and I wouldn't do this to you, trust me. Now, what the hell is going on?"

"Be quiet, Agent Walker. This is a hospital. There are sick and injured soldiers and marines here. Have a little respect."

That shut me up. My mind was a total blank. I was unable to form a coherent thought and the smug smirks on the faces of my escorts did little to put me at ease. I wasn't in trouble so why the hell was I here?

* * *

The elevator opened and there was Jerome in hospital pajamas and a wheelchair. "Hello, Ms. Burt. How ya doin'?" He'd lost a leg at the knee but he still had the big grin and smiling eyes like he'd had at the post.

"Follow me, Ms. Burt. The Ell Tee's room is down here. He's probably still asleep. I just got off the phone with the missus. The Army's flying her out here to stay with me. She was in the hospital but she's out now."

He grabbed me by the arm and looked up at me with a solemn look. "The Ell Tee, he's real upset with hisself. He grabbed me when the missile hit and we jumped out down the mountain side just before the crash." He gestured toward his leg. "He blames himself for this but shit, Ms. Burt, we got home and that's all that's important. Don't let him sulk. Get him to talk. He's a good officer and he got me home. He won't talk no more since we got picked up by some Marines. He just sits there and stares out at stuff no one but him can see."


	7. It Smells Like Death Postponed

BartBurt7

All right, I'm going to dump this crap all out at the same time. I'm tired of the pissing and moaning and I'm bored bored bored with it all. Enjoy.

APR

* * *

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).

**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base  
**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.  
**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer  
**XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.  
**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.  
**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.  
**TDY (not Tidy…Tee Dee Why) **Temporary Duty

* * *

I walked into his room. It was dark. He had the lights off and the blinds were closed. He sat on the edge of the bed with his arms folded across his chest looking down towards the floor.

I walked over and sat down beside him and looped my arm through his. No response. I bumped him with my shoulder and watched his face for any reaction. None at all.

"Chuck, I missed you. I thought you were dead. I grieved. I have a broken heart but you can heal it with just one word, Chuck. Just one word, that's all it will take."

He blinked and then turned his head and looked at me. Waiting.

"One word, Bart, just one little word. Please? Please?"

I had his attention. Now I had to get his agreement.

"Charles Bartowski, my precious Bart, will you marry me? Please, Bart. I'm dying here. Save me like you saved Jerome. Please. Will you marry me?"

He unfolded his arms and intertwined his fingers in mine. A tear crested his lower eyelid and slid down his weathered cheek. Then another and another. I hugged him and just held him. He never made a sound, not a sniffle or a sob, just big tears without end. He was broken inside. I had my work cut out for me.

Time passed and he was over his emotional crying jag. "Chuck, marry me, today, right now, here. I can get a chaplain here in less time than you think…"

"No. Not here. God, Burt, not here. It smells here. It smells bad. It smells like death postponed. Not here."

"OK, then where and when?"

"Someplace clean and fresh. The beach at Malibu. You wear a nice white bikini and a veil and white flip-flops. You got to be in white."

"OK, that sounds nice. Now, lie down and scootch over and tell me what's bugging you, sweetheart. I'm a good listener and if you get tired of talking that's OK, we'll just take a nap until you feel like finishing your story. Please, baby, talk to me. Don't shut me out. We can heal each other and then we'll go someplace clean and fresh smelling and get married."

He fell asleep a few hours later. I lay there for a while and then got up and went looking for Jerome. I needed to know if what I was told was true. I needed to know for my own peace of mind.

Jerome was in his room, sitting in his chair watching something on TV. Sports I think. I asked him to turn it off and tell me what happened before they were picked up at the Marine roadblock. I needed to know if the horror story I'd been told was true.

"Ms. Burt, you don't want to know. Trust me. The Ell Tee is a good man pushed to the limits. All he talked about was getting us home 'to our ladies'. That was his goal, his objective, and he didn't let anything or anyone stand in his way. That's all you need to know. It's not for me to tell. The intel people have already taken our statements and I think the Ell Tee might need a lawyer or JAG. The intel weenies were none too pleased with the facts."

I left Jerome thinking that I was just a civilian. He had no 'need to know' but I did. I made the call.

"Beckman, secure. Agent Walker, I've been expecting your call. I hope you're pleased with his resurrection. Now, what can I do for you?"

"You can give me access to his debriefing records, his and his sergeant, the guy who lost his leg. I got _Captain_ Bartowski to speak to me, to tell me everything that happened from when they jumped out of the Blackhawk until they drove up on the checkpoint. I need to know if what he told me is true so I know how to deal with him in the future. He's stressed out right now, General, and I don't want to make things worse for him."

"Agreed. I'll have a courier bring you copies. After you've read them, return them to him for destruction. He did his duty, Agent Walker, nothing more. We can have counseling arranged in L.A. if he needs it."

"Um, ma'am, the sergeant who was with him said the debriefers told him Chuck would face charges. He said he needed a lawyer or a JAG rep. Is that true?"

"Absolutely not! He was in a combat zone, behind enemy lines and followed the Code of Conduct at all times. I'll have a word with the intel people. There will be no charges and no black marks on his 201. They should be writing up citations for him and his comrade not planning courts martial."

I breathed a sigh of relief. _One bullet dodged._ I thanked the General and she ran over some details and housekeeping items and suggested that maybe 'some time in the sun' would benefit the both of us. Casey was reactivating the operation in California and had been detailed to inform Ellie that Chuck was in DC, sparing no details.

An officer courier arrived an hour later with a 'personal' from the General and the two soldiers' debriefing interviews. I read over Jerome's ramblings and shuddered. He'd carried Jerome on his back and they'd hidden in ditches or abandoned houses to escape the Taliban. They stole food and clothing. Jerome's wound turned bad. Then I read over the interviewer's notes. Chuck hadn't uttered a single word to the intel pukes after giving them the basic information required of a prisoner of war. Is that how he viewed himself? This pissed off the interrogators immensely. They wanted information and he wouldn't give it.

He did, finally, in the hospital, not in Afghanistan. The doubts and accusations followed him home and his next set of interrogators was less inclined to be gentle since neither of them had ever seen the outside of the Pentagon. The Army wanted to make sure there were no 'issues' that could bite them in the ass. Chuck's conduct was an 'issue', apparently.

From what info they did have, they intended to file charges for Conduct Unbecoming and manslaughter. It was all politics and my Bart was at the center, refusing to cooperate and taking the high ground that he'd followed the Code of Conduct to the letter.

None of it ever saw the light of day. The commander of the 3rd ID became aware of the situation through his JAG subordinate that thought it was a bunch of crap and asked the General to intervene. Between a 4-star Division commander, the Director of the NSA and the Intelligence Combine, all charges were dropped against both soldiers and commendations were awarded.

* * *

We returned to Burbank 3 weeks later and 'resumed' our lives. Ellie was getting married to a cardio-thoracic resident she'd met and who'd swept her off her feet and into the premarital sex bed within days. Chuck didn't like him but tolerated him for Ellie's sake. I didn't like him because he'd suggested we meet for drinks sometime to explore the 'obvious attraction' we felt for one another. How can wanting to rip a guy's balls off be an 'obvious attraction'? Ellie was my best friend and I kept mum and hoped he'd just had too much to drink.

Chuck paid for the wedding. He'd amassed quite a lot of money between his military pay, some shrewd investments, his NSA paycheck and the income from Fox. Oh, yeah, I forgot. He bought out the government's share and repaid the seed money and then offered Casey a place to invest his 'mad money' and the two of them could have lived comfortably off the interest.

I wanted to get married. Chuck was still hesitant and we had many 'exciting discussions' about the subject followed by makeup sex. It was an odd scenario and apparently Chuck had his doubts about my feelings. Jesus, Doc, I couldn't have been any plainer in the hospital, could I? We'd agreed to get married but he was just not ready to set a date yet and that became a sore subject and the cause of some serious problems in our relationship. He'd been back from Afghanistan 6 months and we were no closer to setting the date than before.

He was having problems sleeping. Sometimes I'd wake up and he'd be crying quietly, huddle up in the corner of the shower. Sometimes I'd listen as he mumbled to Jerome about leaving him on the mountain if he screamed again and about getting them home. Sometimes he just didn't go to sleep at all and the next day he'd be belligerent and snappish. I snapped right back and we'd argue over stupid things.

Oh, yeah. Bryce Larkin reappeared in our lives and thought he could just slide right back into the saddle he'd occupied in times past. I got to be fair here. Bryce didn't know about Chuck. He knew all about Bart but nothing at all about Chuck Bartowski being my 'main man' and the love of my life.

He hit me unawares right after Chuck and I had had a knock-down-drag-out about setting a date. I accused Chuck of not loving me, of still holding a flame for the newsie or for Jill. He left and spent the night at…I don't' know where he spent the night. I didn't care. I was angry and hurt and having serious thoughts about ending it all and going back to the CIA. I was being selfish. I never, ever, thought Chuck might have problems from his mountain walk and other tours. He was. They call it PTSD now but then it was just a buzzword the military threw around to explain the suicide rates.

I didn't exactly welcome Bryce with open arms. He didn't sleep with me although he did spend the night in bed after starting on the couch in the apartment. I never stopped to think that Chuck might have returned during the night. I didn't think at all. I should have told him to get a motel room and… but that was back then.

I woke to find Bryce wrapped around me and I hit the roof, screaming at him that I was, for all intents and purposes, engaged. We dressed and left and had a tense breakfast together and then Casey called with a mission order and I told Bryce I'd meet him for dinner to finish whatever it was he wanted to discuss.

Smooth, huh? I was living with a man I wanted to marry and making a dinner date with his mortal enemy and wondering why he was hesitant to commit. Stupid. I was stuck on stupid.

I walked into the Fox operation and the redhead cut me dead with a glare. Not used to 'female signals' I ignored her and waltzed back into the ops area to find Casey and Chuck. I found Casey easy enough. I just followed the sound of his bellows. When he's really riled he can sound exactly like a bull moose in rut.

I walked up to him with coffee for the both of us in my hands when I heard him say, quite distinctly, 'General, he's not in any shape to take 2.0; I've seen guys like him before. The thousand-yard stare is a dead giveaway. He needs some time…'

I walked up beside him and put the coffee down in front of him. He smiled until he saw me and then he frowned, picked up the coffee, dropped it into the waste can like it was covered in ants and resumed his argument. I glared at him and went looking for Chuck.

I found him putting together some kind of frame that attached to a chair with restraints. I should have seen then that something was wrong. He was having trouble putting a screwdriver into the slot of a screw. After dropping either the screw or the screwdriver several times he hurled the screwdriver at the wall where it buried itself to the handle.

"Hey, maybe you need to take it easy on the coffee, baby. You're all tense. Look, about last night…"

"You didn't need to fake an argument, Agent Walker. All you had to do was ask me to leave. I would have understood."

"What? What the hell are you talking about, Bartowski?" I didn't have a clue.

"Larkin. Used to be past tense when you said 'love'. He's back in your life. I understand. You were partners. You shared almost 2 years together. You said you had feelings for him. I get it. I'll have a cleaner crew get my stuff out before 'dinner'."

"Chuck, what are you talking about? There's nothing going on between Bryce and I. I love you, sweetheart, not Bryce. He spent the night on the couch. He wants to talk about reactivating the partnership. He's got Graham's backing and he came to me with a proposal. I mean with a proposition, a deal. Look…"

"Agent Walker, I'm on a very tight schedule here so if you'll excuse me, I really need to finish this frame. Good luck and stay safe, Agent Walker."

"Chuck, you don't mean that. We had a silly argument and it got out of hand. I want to get married, Chuck."

"Then marry the guy you woke up wrapped around, Agent Walker. Marry the guy you whored for in Iraq. Marry the…marry the…"

"Chuck? Chuck!" He collapsed like someone had taken all his bones out.

I saw a trank dart in his back and Casey standing at the door with a grim look on his face.

"You civvies just don't get it. You don't know the price he pays just to get up in the morning and pretend to be normal. The stress is killing him. Last night…Walker that was unforgivable. How could you let that scumbag stay with you in HIS bed?"

"I didn't. He started out on the couch. I was exhausted from arguing with Chuck and then with Bryce about reactivating the partnership. I flipped out when I woke up and he was in bed with me. Please believe me, Casey, it's the truth."

"Doesn't matter what I believe. The guy on the floor came back with his tail between his legs to apologize and found you two. He showed up at my place and fell apart. He's been on the edge for a long time now and between the chopper crash and what he had to do to get the two of them home…he's cracking."

"I tried to explain it to Beckman but she's convinced he's stable enough to take on 2.0 and so he was scheduled to do it this afternoon but he'll be in better shape tomorrow. He'll be pissed but a little more rested."

"Casey, he said he'd have a cleaner team at the apartment 'before dinner'."

"I'll take care of it, Walker. Don't worry yourself. He'll be out of your life before…"

"NO! No, you stupid jackass. I love him and I've been after him to get married since the damned hospital when he got back but he's the one who has cold feet. That's what the damned argument was about. He won't commit to us. He won't set a date or just run off and get married in Vegas. He's the one…"

"Classic PTSD. I wish I'd known this earlier. Beckman has to cut him some serious slack now."

Hell, yes, I remember it verbatim. It was the most horrible day of my life. I was losing him to a misunderstanding and to a mental problem that no one wanted to admit existed let alone existed in the mind of their precious intersect host.

Casey told me about his conversation right before Ellie's wedding. Chuck wanted to get married he said. He wanted to marry me. Casey advised against it saying that agents shouldn't fall in love because we weren't normal people. Marriage would never work out between us no matter how much we said we loved each other. The job would always get in the way.

He said he asked Beckman about sending him back to Iraq in some nice cushy job where he wouldn't be responsible for anything and could recover but they both agreed it was too soon. Better to let him decompress around family and friends and a woman who loved him.

I sure screwed that up.

* * *

I sat at home surrounded by our stuff. I wasn't going to let any cleaner crew remove one thing. I had a pistol in my lap and was prepared to use deadly force if necessary. I was desperate. Someone knocked at the door and I leaped up hoping it was Casey bringing Chuck home but it was Larkin.

I think I shot at him. I know I told him if he came around again I'd kill him. I told him that I was going to marry Bart and he just laughed at me. He said people like 'us' could never commit to one person. We always looked ahead to the next one, a better one. He was right. I did always look ahead, trying to improve my lot. But I was done doing it. I found my 'best possible' and by God I was going to marry him.

I guess I was pretty loud because Casey told me he and Chuck could hear me screaming at Larkin to 'get the fuck out and never come back' in the parking lot. They heard the other stuff, too, when he didn't leave immediately. That's when I shot at him.

I fell to my knees cradling my pistol and crying when Chuck burst through the door and took it all in and leaped magnificently to the wrong conclusions. Larkin hit the wall with another broken nose and then my pistol was ripped from my grasp and I was enveloped in Bart. Bart, not Chuck. Chuck was still having problems with finding me naked in bed with Larkin (even though I was asleep) but Bart was all about forgiving his Burt who was so upset she was going to shoot herself. (Like I said, magnificently wrong conclusion but it all worked out).

'_Burt, will you marry me, stay with me, and love me for the rest of our lives?'_

_OF COURSE_ I said 'yes'. I'm not a fool.

We drove to Vegas and Casey was best man and Ellie and Devon came along as witnesses and because they were family. We stayed four days and then duty called in the form of an op order from Beckman who had actually called us earlier with congratulations and best wishes and a reminder that we were agents and honeymoons had to be scheduled.

* * *

Casey was worried that Beckman would push the 2.0 on Chuck and he finally confronted Beckman with the whole tale of woe. Surprise! She'd already consulted with _her_ experts who said there would be no problems whatsoever since it was the portion of the brain dealing with essentially short-term memory storage and not the more complex areas. 'Go ahead, he can handle it' was the word and her decision.

He absorbed the download like a sponge and initial testing showed that everything was in working order. Everything was great.

Our next mission involved a straight-up B&E (Breaking & Entering) of a suspected Fulcrum intel node and the placement of bugs and re-directs on data transmission devices, something we'd done many times before.

We drove to San Diego, located the building housing the node, did our due diligence insofar as staffing and alarm systems were concerned and then hunkered down for the evening counting the people leaving against the attendance rolls we'd pilfered by hacking into one of their smaller computers that was linked to the internet.

Casey and I cracked the alarms and the locks while Chuck kept watch using small disposable CCTV units we'd placed around the perimeter. When I signaled Chuck to join us because the locks and alarms were off-line there was no response.

Casey tried reaching him with the same result. We were afraid we'd overlooked something or that somehow our security had been compromised. We left the facility and ran to the van. It was empty. I was freaking out. There was no sign of a struggle. The van doors had been secured from outside and my husband of less than a month was missing.

I was really freaking out and Casey was pacing around the exterior of the van like a tiger in a cage. Chuck still carried a wallet that had a GPS transponder that responded with his coordinates when interrogated remotely. I asked Casey why he didn't use it when Chuck was missing in Afghanistan and he told me that it had a very limited range.

Chuck was inside the damned node. Casey brought up the building blueprints and superimposed the grid system and located our missing partner. Chuck was moving rapidly from workstation to workstation and then out into the main computer room and then into each of the offices until he exited out the front door, reset the alarm system, and made his way to the van.

Neither Casey nor I said a word. We were too damned angry. He had totally breached protocol and run the entire mission himself. He opened the van door and sat down in his seat and his head hit his chest and his eyes closed. I'll never forget his first statement and the first indication that something was wrong.

"You guys are getting pretty damned good. Any problems? It didn't take you nearly as long as we'd planned. Thanks, by the way, for including me in your exercise. I guess there's no 'Chuck' in Team."

He turned away disgusted muttering that he could have been doing a hundred other things if they were just going to run the damn operation without him.

I looked at Casey and he mouthed 'Oh, Shit!' and we both started asking questions.

I asked him why he was surprised with our time since we'd practiced a lot. Casey raised an eyebrow and then followed along on the same line of questioning asking Chuck if he'd recorded the exterior of the van during the operation and if the internals were on, too.

Chuck just snorted and reminded Casey that the internals were automatic, another example of the agency's undying faith in their employees. I pulled the disc and put it in my bag. We'd look at it later when we got back to Fox.

Chuck dozed the entire return trip and only awoke when we pulled into the parking lot. I asked Chuck if he minded running over to the deli and picking us up some sandwiches since no one had eaten and while he was gone, we reviewed the internal recordings.

We saw the door of the van close as we left and then Chuck's head drop onto his chest for a few seconds and then he whirled around in his chair and started throwing electronics into a bag. He was out the door in less than a minute. I popped the disc and put in the external CCTV views and spotted Chuck running to the first side door, picking the lock, disabling the alarm and entering.

"Casey, I don't think he knows what he did." I was suddenly very afraid of and for my husband.

Doc, I'm tired and I'm worried about my husband. He doesn't miss deadlines and he never breaks his promises, even implied ones like 'I'll mail the signed paperwork after the mission'. Have you heard anything at all?

Well, call me anytime if you do. I'll see you Tuesday.

What? Doc, I've loved my husband since I was 19 and I'll be 36 in 4 months. Don't act so surprised that I worry about him. He was my life for so long and I just can't imagine him gone from it. Yeah, I guess I am having second thoughts. Isn't that natural? I mean, after all, we've dredged up memories I hadn't even realized I had. Some good and some bad, but _ours_, understand?

Yes, damn it, it was a shitty thing to do but…look, I'll get into the whys later. I have to do some thinking.

* * *

When I get back to my apartment at the Watergate there is a large package of mail from the Los Angeles office that needed my attention.

As I sort through the envelopes and folders I come across a manila envelope with 'FREE' where the stamp would go. It's addressed to 'Sarah Walker' in care of the Guardian Escorts. I am instantly angry. The bastard didn't even have the courtesy…

'Courtesy? You moved out without telling him where you were going. It's the only address he knew you'd be sure and get mail at. You're angry with him? Why? He's over there doing God knows what and you're here planning to return to government whoring because you're BORED!'

I throw the envelope down on the pile and make myself a stiff drink. Almost time to hit the liquor store again.

I run through the business mail, making notes on my computer and composing emails in response to queries and other issues. My glass is empty and I don't remember drinking any of it although the musty taste of the liquor is fresh on my tongue.

Finally, there's just one piece of correspondence left to handle. The envelope is dirty, has a partial boot print on the backside of it and it obviously had gotten wet at one time since it's crinkled and water stained.

Where was he when he mailed it? Is he OK? How did I let it go this far? I miss him. I need him. I love him and now I'm throwing him away. For what?

I hold the envelope and my future in my hands. He signed it. He finally realized there was no hope for Bart & Burt. He gave up everything he ever wanted and signed it. The stubborn bastard was finally beaten into submission.

I am so ashamed.


	8. The Journal and the Blonde Boozer

BartBurt8

**If some of you who don't read anything except fan fic have problems, don't read my shit.**

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).

**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base

**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.

**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer

**XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.

**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.

**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.

**TDY (not Tidy…Tee Dee Why) **Temporary Duty

**NKs (Just say the letters) **North Koreans

**MBT (**Just say the lettes) Motherxxxxing Big Tank or Main Battle Tank

**AFV **Armored Fighting Vehicles – Army talk for armored cars, not quite tanks and other stuff that carries troops into battle and shoots at other AFVs

**Bradley AFV – **Tracked multipurpose vehicle replacing the Armored Personnel Carriers like the M-113s. Thick armor, carries 12 troops + crew and has a nasty 25mm chain gun that can tear things up right nicely.

**Stryker –** Armored wheeled-vehicle. Carries troops and is used to screen armor. Mine resistant but crumple from a main gun hit. Goes really fast on highways.

* * *

Present Day

General John Casey finally admitted what he'd always been afraid to. He was in love with Dr. Eleanor Woodcomb. They talked pretty regularly, especially after what was left of the team relocated to DC and Chuck went off to Korea and Sarah went off the tracks. He was brutally honest with Ellie. It was the only way he could be and he liked to think she appreciated his straight talk.

"John, I understand her frustrations better than I'd like to admit. I can certainly see her point of view but…"

"Ellie, that's a bunch of bull and you know it. She waited, Ellie, she waited until he was out of the country and then she suddenly has this need to divorce her husband who has never, ever, been the least little bit unfaithful to her. She was his world and she took it all away from him."

"John, you don't understand. He idolized her, put her on a pedestal and _left her_ _there_. Sure, he loves her with every fiber of his body but sometimes it just isn't enough. Look at me and Devil. I had feelings for him exactly like Chuck had for Sarah and look what it got me? I'm a successful pediatric surgeon with a delightful daughter who has been spoiled rotten by her uncles. But John, it's just…sometimes, at night, I just want someone warm and caring in my life. And during the day, too. Can't you understand that? He's gone a lot…"

"He loved her 24/7. Even when he hated her for the thing with Larkin a part of him still loved her enough to marry her. She loved him, chased him, pursued him, nagged at him until finally something happened that made a part of him overcome his difficulties and marry her. Best thing they ever did. I don't understand how she can throw it all away now. Help me understand, Ellie. I've been ducking her calls since right after New Years and I feel like a heel for doing so."

"Has Sarah been unfaithful to him? Is that why you have such difficulty accepting that she wants more? What do you know, Big John, that you're not telling me?"

He blushed even though he knew she couldn't see the look of pleasure on his face when she called him her old nickname for him.

"I don't know for sure. There was motive and opportunity and she lied to him a lot about the 'demands of her job' in her bodyguard business. Ellie, she told Chuck she needed to 'handle' some of the clients herself and she spent a month with the last one touring the Mediterranean on his yacht. Who the hell could have gotten to him at sea? She wasn't even here to see him off. That's despicable."

"John, take some leave. Come home, John. We can spend time together, go to the wine country, hit the Baja, I don't care. I don't want to end up like Sarah. I don't want my life to filled with things and events but not a man to share them with. A week, John, 7 days. I'll get someone to watch the monster and we can be just John and Ellie. I've come to realize it should always have been you and me. Am I that terrible to be around? I've lived like a nun all this time. I need you, John, please?"

"I'll see about taking some leave but I can't leave right now. Chuck's in…I can't talk about it. I'm sorry. I just can't abandon him when there's still…"

"I love you, John Casey, and not abandoning a friend is one of the reasons. Don't abandon Sarah, John. Talk to her. The truth might surprise both of us."

"Fine. I'll call her. I'll get authorization to brief her but…damn it, I really hate what she's doing. Her timing sucks."

"Hey, since you can't get away, what if I came there? I can drop the monster off on Devon's mom. She loves her and tolerates me."

"Get me your flight info and if I can't get away I'll have someone meet you. Fred, my aide. You remember Fred?"

"Yeah. I'll work out the details and email you."

"Bye, Ellie. I lo…I'll see ya."

Ellie hung up the phone and sighed. He was so stubborn. Sarah was just as stubborn. She dialed her sister-in-law's cell phone and mentally steeled herself to 'be nice'.

"Sarah, Ellie Woodcomb. John Casey is going to brief you in on Chuck's 'situation'. I have no idea when or how but try to act surprised and don't be stubborn just because he's pissed at you. That's all I have to say."

She hung up the phone and sighed again. Her best friend. Her almost-sister. How could she do this to her husband? He was a soldier and he was a spy. They spent more time together than any couple she knew and yet she became a different person every time Chuck had to deploy. Granted, there were fewer deployments and none in the last two and a half years but she knew she was marrying a soldier first and a spy second when she proposed.

But he didn't know he was marrying a spy whose personal philosophy was 'love the one you're with' The job on the yacht in the Med? Yeah, she was screwing the guy, Ellie was fairly sure. Sarah had been distancing herself from the family and when Ellie asked Chuck about it he blew her off saying it was all her imagination. But they both knew it wasn't imaginary.

She was moving on, just like John had told her one night when she'd broken up a particularly vicious verbal spat between John and Sarah that had been fueled by another couple's breakup, her own.

He told her then that Sarah made no qualms about always looking for the next guy. It was her nature. Had she found him already and now was just cleaning up some 'loose ends'?

* * *

Han River Bridge  
30km east of Seoul, Korea  
January 5

This thing the news anchors were calling 'an intense but probably short-lived police action' had caught the world with its pants down and the US military with its head up its ass. 'PPMS' had saved its ass though. 'Pre-Positioned Military Stores' was a hold-over from the Cold War era but it enabled US military units to be rapidly deployed from the US to the war zone and arrive with equipment already in place.

Elements of the 3rd ID, now fully equipped, rushed forward to pre-assigned positions south of the capital city and prepared to rebuff armor and infantry elements that had bypassed the city. The NKs didn't want its troops to see the opulence that ordinary people of a democracy lived and worked in, and so it cited the desire to avoid 'civilian casualties'. This was from the regime that used nerve and chemical weapons to breach the demilitarized zone and eliminate civilian populations in its path that might hinder the assault.

Chuck was assigned as the Battalion S-3 and was responsible for all logistics and planning. He was the man who planned the actions and fed the machine. He also doubled as S-2 (Intelligence) because that officer was in the hospital at the time of deployment and there had been no time to move another into his place.

The last time he'd spoken with Casey was New Year's Eve, his battalion was on its way to its assigned position in the line east of the capital. There was one surviving bridge over the Han River and their orders were to cross it and secure a bridgehead on the northern bank and to hold it at all costs. The entire brigade was to make the crossing and fan out and establish defensive positions.

The crossing would take almost 12 hours but the planners didn't take into consideration that the NKs might object and take exception to the crossing. Most of three battalions made it across in the first 3 hours but then the bridge and both troop concentrations at either end came under FROG (Free Ranging Over Ground) and artillery attacks. The NKs loved their artillery. All the regimes with armies based on the Red Army model did.

The brigade commander had never been under fire and to say he freaked out was an understatement. While he dithered, the center and southern spans of the bridge dropped into the Han River trapping the three battalions on the wrong side of the river.

The battalion XO called for a field grade officers' call on all battalions and Chuck couldn't think of a stupider thing to do while under fire. _Put the leadership together in one spot and the enemy could decapitate the defending force with one round._

He was late reporting but didn't give a damn. His commander had issued a series of orders that assumed that the entire force had made it across and assembled on the other river bank. Hadn't happened that way and Chuck had to move two companies into different positions to provide protection to the battalion's eastern flank. He'd worry about permission later.

The Delta Company XO came looking for Major Bartowski. He had news.

"Major Bartowski, sir, they're all gone. The entire senior staff is gone. The NKs dumped a MLRS spill on them. The Brigade commander was haranguing them about deployments and the NKs resected our transmitter location and dumped a spill on them. Everyone and everything is gone up there. You're the ranking officer. What are your orders?"

So much for the Grand Scheme laid out by the Brigade commander. He thought for a few minutes and issued his first order of the day.

"Send runners to the other battalion commanders and tell them the order of the day is 'dig in and hold until further orders'. Tell them to maintain radio silence at all levels. If we've been spoofed, they're just waiting for someone on this side of the Han to request instructions. No signals of any kind. Then tell your CO you're the new battalion S-3. I'll have a warning order to them in 30 minutes. What I want from them is a sitrep on men and materiel. Got all that?"

He dropped his head to his chest and accessed the curse of his existence, the intersect. He'd been overwhelmed by the data the first few times he found himself in situations where the intersect seemed to take control of him. He knew what was happening but just ignored it, afraid he was losing his mind. It eventually required another downloading of the 2.0 version but the 'zombie glitch' faded away. He wished he could just let it take over but knew that was impossible.

'_I wonder what she'll say when she gets the note I attached to the signed divorce papers? I shouldn't have been so brutal, but she tore my heart out and this time there can be no forgiveness on my part. None. Burt's dead to me now. Bart's been purged from my psyche. I'm me, Chuck Bartowski, idiot who loved and trusted too much.'_

He had 3 battalions of men and women to worry about. Bart & Burt were no longer issues. He accessed the maps of Korea and mentally plotted a course that would take them away from the thick of the fighting and allow them to reorganize and regroup.

Three days. He'd pray for 1 full day to regroup and then head for the one area the NK would never expect them to go…west across the peninsula to the sea. Chuck wasn't sure they had 3 _hours_. He'd do a reverse MacArthur, run amok behind their advance, cut their supply lines, mess with their supply trains and use their fuel for his run to the sea.

They would need to communicate their intentions one time only. There would be no interference from any higher headquarters. There would be no repeat of the fiasco that decimated the command group. This would have to be done 'old school', really old school, like the Civil War and Sherman's march to the sea.

Two majors showed up and wanted to discuss date of rank issues. They were not line officers but they were West Pointers. They were still alive because they were pure staff. The one was the aide to the brigade commander and had been running an errand when the bridge dropped. The other was the 2nd Battalion's S-3 officer but he'd never been in a line company, not even as a platoon leader.

Chuck threatened to shoot the aide and make the S-3 a platoon leader if they didn't make themselves scarce but useful. He sent them with his warning order and ordered them to make sure it was understood and to bring back any questions in writing. There was no room for miscommunication. Things would have to occur exactly as planned if it was all going to hang together.

Enemy contact over the next 4 hours was limited to occasional probes by ground troops trying to assess the positions, strengths and abilities of the American forces. Like the Red Army, the NKs put entirely too much stock in artillery. Men could dig deeper under artillery fire than at any other time and this was no exception. It was cold and the ground was hard but fear strengthened muscles and resolve. No on wanted to die.

The probes were weak and undermanned suggesting that they were up against scattered forces left behind to secure their lines of communication and supply. The original plan to strike north from the Han looked more and more like it would have worked except…the remaining forces on the northern side had too little to pull off the assault.

* * *

The sitreps were in. 1,222 troops, one company of Abrams tanks, 2 troops of Strykers, 2 troops of Bradley Scout AFVs modified for Air Defense and anti-armor defense. They had trucks, HummVs and fuel tankers, and 3 complete medical evac units with doctors and nurses as specified on the TOE. Oh, yeah, and 3 embeds, one from CNN, one from Fox and one from Skye News. Whoopee.

He summoned the embeds and laid down the law. No use of electronics. No transmissions, no sat phone conversations with mother, not one word. In exchange for their cooperation, and for not confiscating their equipment, he promised them a story that would win them awards if they didn't pull a Madison Wainwright. The guy from CNN looked like he was going to puke; he knew what had happened to her in Iraq. The blonde newsie from Fox got serious and started asking the usual dumbassed questions and the Brit babe from Skye News wanted guarantees in writing as well as an exclusive interview after 'the engagement was over'.

"Pay attention. I don't have time for you. I'm doing this as a courtesy and because I want something from you in return. Turn in your sat phones. You can keep everything else that doesn't send a signal but the phones are mine. I will talk to you daily at 5pm if the situation permits. Bring your cameras and your own MREs. Questions?"

There were questions, demands, and objections. Chuck signaled his first sergeant to 'escort them out and bring back their sat phones please, Top'. He had no time for the press. He did have a need for them , but not now.

Chuck had no sooner dismissed his embeds when the Battalion First Sergeant asked if he had a minute. You don't turn down the Top Soldier since he's generally better wired into the situation than any officer.

"Major, we got us a little problem. We got 4 ROKs attached to us. Three captains and a major. One's a woman, the major. They're waiting outside to speak with you. They're liaisons for the ROK central command. They're demanding, well the major is demanding, to use our equipment to report their status."

"They speak English?" Why send a liaison who couldn't communicate?

"The captains can. The major just glares."

"Send them in. Stay outside though. Shoot them if they turn out to be bad guys." The old sergeant grinned and patted his 9mm. "Already planned on doing that, Major. Glad we're on the same page."

The 4 Korean soldiers crowded into the Hummer and saluted. He nodded and pointed to chairs.

"What's the problem? We're signals silent until further notice. That includes you four. Unless you want to take a sat phone and walk a few klicks north to make your call. EMCOM is the name of the game unless you missed the smoking crater that used to be the battalions' officers."

The captains all looked uncomfortable and the major just glared. "I demand to be allowed to contact my HQ and appraise them of this situation and request new orders. There is little here to 'liaise' with."

"Demand denied. EMCOM silent is the permanent status of this force. If you wish to rejoin ROK forces, the bridge is out but the current's not too bad. Swim south and reconnect with your units. I could really use your help but I understand your positions. If there's nothing else…" He really needed to finish sketching out their route to the sea.

The captains started to leave, glad that the American realized they could be of assistance but the Major just growled something in Korean and they froze at attention.

Chuck dropped his chin to his chest and conjured (that's what he called accessing V2.0) up the language program and dropped his guard and was blunt with the ROK major.

"Major, you are rude and disrespectful even for a Korean and I've overlooked it until now. You gentlemen are excused but please remain outside the vehicle. We'll need to discuss quarters and rations for your stay with us." The captains left silently, ignoring the growls of the major. She was a political hack and no soldier.

"Why don't you take off your helmet, sit down, and introduce yourself and tell me why I shouldn't have you thrown off the bridge span so you can swim back to your unit?"

She did exactly as she was told, ingrained traditions of living in a male-dominated society made her follow his orders. She was shocked to discover she was sitting down in one of the stationary seats that filled the rear of the Hummer.

"My name is Major Sun Ji Lee and I was to be the liaison officer to the brigade commander before the NKs took out the bridge. Now, I'm at loose ends. This is just another sad event to befall me. First, my family is gone, slaughtered by NK commandos, then the invasion and now this. Understand something, Major. I will not surrender. You Americans can march into captivity but I won't. I will fight…"

"Lee as in 'President Lee'?"

"Yes. As in President Lee, my father."

"One, we're not surrendering. Two, I could use the knowledge you and the captains have to plan our route, identify targets, and reach our objective while screwing with the NK supply lines and killing any units we stumble across. There will be no surrender."

"Then you have my apologies, Major. When they said the 'supply officer' was taking over I assumed…"

Chuck laughed and she suddenly realized that he'd been speaking to her in Korean.

"Not many Americans speak Korean. I'm impressed."

"I speak a lot of languages but that's not important unless you want tutoring in Pushti, Arabic or Cantonese. My plan is to head north until we're 20 klicks from the DMZ and then turn left and head for Inchon and their harbor. Your Navy and Marines are still holding on there. I figure adding 1,000 Americans with equipment might boost their morale and give us a place to regroup before attacking the NK's rear."

"We will help in any way possible. All of us have lost family and loved ones to the NKs and we want revenge."

"Here's my projected route. Hopefully one of you is familiar with the actual road conditions there. We're armor-heavy and I've marked several airports and airfields where we can be resupplied with fuel and ammunition and evacuate any wounded and dead. I don't know if I'm being realistic in my time frames. I need your knowledge of the countryside and possible enemy dispositions. Will you review these and let me know how far up my ass I've shoved my head?"

Apparently some things don't translate and he must have said something wrong because the Major suddenly started laughing and holding her hands in front of her mouth, a sign of courtesy in the orient.

"Of course. I'm sorry to have laughed. Your idioms are somewhat…graphic? I haven't laughed in a long time, Major. Thank you."

A flicker of emotion deep inside Chuck Bartowski surprised him. He didn't think he'd ever look at another woman as long as Burt was alive. He squashed it like a nasty bug and cautioned himself to follow the advice of General Washington in his farewell address: _**'Beware of foreign entanglements'**_. He was going to war not launching a seduction campaign.

It wasn't long before the ROK major and her three companions returned with an analysis of his plan. The roads would handle Chuck's armor but the airfields were probably either in NK hands or their runways had been cratered to prevent their use. As far as the dash from the northern most point of his feint to Inchon, they were split. The Major and one captain, an older man for the rank, agreed that it would be unexpected and would damage and disrupt the NK lines of communication and supply.

The two younger captains felt that remaining right where they were and await a bridging effort by the Allied forces was the best bet.

Chuck laughed and reminded the younger officers that the NK artillery _south_ of the bridge had fired the mission, not the artillery to the north. In fact, there was very little heavy equipment north of the river. The NKs had thrown everything south to quickly roll up the ROK army and they'd run into a wall of determined South Koreans and been stopped dead. Air superiority was non-existent with neither side able to claim control of the skies. This was the sharp stick that Chuck worried about. It made his planned resupply at airports iffy at best.

He ended his meeting and took his sat phone out of his pack. He put in a special chip and then grabbed his weapon and LBE and walked north about 200 yards. Three troopers followed discretely behind him, alert to any possible enemies even in this flat terrain.

* * *

January 6  
North of Han River Crossing

He turned on the phone, selected a frequency and set up his antenna. He dialed a number and waited.

"Casey, secure. Who's calling?"

"Casey, Bartowski. I'm going to squirt you a message in exactly 17 minutes. That's the last contact until we reach Objective 1. It's a rat screw and I'm ranking officer of what's left of what's basically light brigade, and that's being charitable. You should have let me go to the War College, Casey, instead of messing around in Burbank. EMCOM is 100%. I mailed her damned papers, Casey. Tell her goodbye for me." He disconnected without allowing a response.

He'd composed his message on his laptop and compressed the 8 page document into a 0.3 second 'squirt' of data called a microburst by the tech weenies but a 'squirt' by anyone who used it. The he activated the camera and recorded a personal message to his ex-wife and another to his sister and saved both to a flash drive.

He ran the recording and the documents through an encryption program and then through the compression gear and created a squirt file.

He walked back to his previous position and watched his watch, a gift from his wife in better times, countdown the minutes and seconds until the system automatically dialed, squirted and then disconnected the connection. Interception was highly unlikely.

* * *

General Casey sat at a workstation while his technicians reassembled the 'squirt' from Bartowski. He had a feeling it was going to be bad news. He'd already called Beckman and asked for an appointment to discuss the issues he might have but Beckman told him she didn't have any time to see him.

"Damn it, General, it's Chuck Bartowski, the host, not some soldier with a bad attitude. At least make the time to read his squirt. It might give you another viewpoint to present to the president."

"Send it over. And if you talk to Bartowski again, tell him to return to friendly lines and immediately contact you for an extraction. His file was flagged. He should have been removed from the unit and assigned less hazardous duties. General Casey, you need to keep your agents on a short leash, especially Bartowski!"

His aide watched in amusement as the General removed the headset from the communications panel and threw it on the ground. Some minutes later a tech brought Casey a sheaf of papers, a flash drive and a new headset. Someone had already cleaned up the debris of the previous victim of 'Casey rage'.

He read the pages carefully. He nodded his head in places and shook it in others. Overall it was a good plan but relied too much on timing and the availability of resupply. He motioned his aide over and asked him to make 3 copies of the plan and take one to General Beckman and another to the Office of the Chief of Staff of the Army and the third copy was to go into the NSA archives vault. He wanted no mysterious lost documents if the shit hit the fan.

He glanced at his watch and left a message for his aide to head home. He had to contact Agent Walker regarding her husband. She had a 'movie' to watch. He wanted to be there to see her reaction to what Chuck had said. Oh, yeah, he'd viewed it. Twice.


	9. Thrown Under the Bus

BartBurt9

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).

**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base

**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.

**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer

**XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.

**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.

**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.

**TDY (not Tidy…Tee Dee Why) **Temporary Duty

**NKs (Just say the letters) **North Koreans

**MBT (**Just say the lettes) Motherxxxxing Big Tank or Main Battle Tank

**AFV **Armored Fighting Vehicles – Army talk for armored cars, not quite tanks and other stuff that carries troops into battle and shoots at other AFVs

**Bradley AFV – **Tracked multipurpose vehicle replacing the Armored Personnel Carriers like the M-113s. Thick armor, carries 12 troops + crew and has a nasty 25mm chain gun that can tear things up right nicely.

**Stryker –** Armored wheeled-vehicle. Carries troops and is used to screen armor. Mine resistant but crumple from a main gun hit. Goes really fast on highways.

* * *

Sarah's Watergate Apartment

The filthy envelope rests in the middle of my desk. I am getting as bad as my husband. As long as I don't open it, I don't have to act on it. Maybe he wrote 'Screw You!' across the papers and didn't sign them. After all he did say he would never give me a divorce, no matter what I did. No. He wouldn't do that. He told Casey he'd sign and mail the papers and here was proof he kept his word.

I went to my closet and took down his lockbox from the shelf. I have questions and maybe the answers are in his lockbox. I took down my own, found the glassine envelope with his 'thumb print' on a special type of paper and took it out and then carried his box to my desk.

I positioned his 'thumbprint' on the sensor and it clicked open. I opened the lid and found a letter dated the day he deployed for parts unknown. I came home a week later from the Med cruise to an empty house, an empty refrigerator and a note on the kitchen table that said that since I wasn't answering my cell phone or responding to his voice and emails he couldn't warn me in advance that he was leaving for Korea.

That was the note in its entirety. No 'I love you'. No 'I'll write when I know where I get my mail.' No nothing. Just 'sorry I couldn't warn you but I'm gone'.

Considering how effectively I'd cut off all communication with him, I am surprised I even got a note. I was deliberately cruel, I suppose, although it was not 'deliberate' in the sense that I said 'I'll screw with his head and not answer my phone or email'. No. I just ignored the nagging fact that I had a husband and lost myself in my assignment. Yeah, I lost myself. And him.

I take everything out of his lockbox and sort it into chronological order. Chuck had left each letter he'd written to me over the years in the box, addressed and dated.

The earliest was addressed to 'My darling Burt'. The ones in between varied from 'Burt' to 'Sarah' and finally the ultimate definition of how far we'd fallen: Agent Walker.

I open the earliest one and read it. It is a love letter from someone who wanted to console the reader, to give her comfort even after his death. I read the others and they get progressively shorter, more direct and mostly consist of instructions for the handling of his estate.

The one addressed to Agent Walker is short and to the point.

_'Once upon a time a boy met a girl on a camping trip and they fell in love but things didn't work out for them quite the way they'd planned. Oh, sure, they found each other again, married, but instead of happily ever after, the girl eventually divorced the boy. She'd changed and he hadn't. He still wanted the girl with the weed eater hairdo, the slightly crooked front teeth and the smile of an angel._

_She wanted to return to her life as a spy, hiding her intentions and preparations behind subterfuge and a contrived web of lies and half-truths forgetting all the while who the boy really grew up to be – the intersect host._

_You should have been upfront with me and asked for a divorce. I would have given you your version of 'happily ever after' since all I ever wanted was to make you happy._

He didn't sign it.

He knew all along. These past few months when I noticed him looking at me expectantly I realize now that he was waiting for me to ask for a divorce. He knew all along and never said a word. He just waited. What agonies I put him through. I thought I was going to make it quick and painless for him but instead I cut at him, tore his flesh, ripped at his heart and finally I killed him. He signed the damned papers.

When was the last time we made love that I really 'participated' instead of going through the motions? When was the last time I listened to his voice and heard the uncertainty and longing? When was the last time I thought of myself as his wife and not an agent-in-waiting?

I make myself another drink. Screw the water and ice. I want to feel the burn and the bite. I finish the bottle, not caring that I will look and feel like shit in the morning. A little concealer, a little agency training, maybe an hour or so in the sauna he'd built for me because I said I missed the occasional cleansing of the pores – oh, wait, that was in the house in the hills, our house, his house now.

* * *

There was a journal in amongst the letters. It was written in his cramped hand and it was very hard to read. His handwriting had changed. I looked at the first letter and then at the journal comparing the handwriting. The letters in the words looked abrupt and angry now. Just like our marriage. I make another drink and prepare myself for what's between the faux leather covers.

_'The shrink says I have to write out the truth about Afghanistan and confront my 'issues' if the dreams and flashbacks and bouts of depression are ever going to go away. Fat lot that smug son of a bitch knows. He's got clean manicured nails, smooth black skin and he's probably never spent a night wet and cold, trying to keep your brother alive and warm but quiet._

_Ok, we crashed. I grabbed Jerome and my pack and we jumped right before the chopper hit the ridge and tumbled end over end down the slope. No fire but no survivors either. Jerome's leg is laid open from mid-calf to his ankle from shrapnel. I can see the bone, white against his dark skin. Not much blood though. I put a tourniquet using his belt just below the knee and use my field dressing to cover the gash. I got nothing else I can use. Nothing else I can do. The damned thing in my head is no help._

_I go through my ruck and sort out the stuff we have to have and throw the rest away. I got to carry him and I can't manage a ruck, too. I put him on my back and wrap his arms around my neck and tie them with a strap from his LBE and then I get up and settle him and stand, holding his legs behind the knees. He's lighter than I thought but heavier than I'd hoped. Piggy-backed, we start off. It takes me a while to find the right balance and pace but I finally get it._

_Found a road about the same time Jerome wakes up and starts screaming. I sit down and undo his wrists and stuff a pocket I cut off his field jacket into his mouth. It's dusk and it's going to get cold and his screams will carry and get us caught. We didn't run into that missile by accident._

_He's calmed down some so I reach back and pull the gag out and he starts rambling on about his 'Moms' and his wife Ayala. I guess that's how it's spelled. I never saw it written. I tell him 'tell me about your hometown, talk to me. Don't think about the pain. Suck it up and talk to me but don't scream or I'll leave you here'. He never would have left me. We were 'blood brothers' but I would have. I think I would have. Maybe. I don't know._

_He's from some dying town near Pittsburgh. Mill closed, people left, people who got left behind made do. He played football, joined the army. Married the 'girl next door' and then he came here. Short description but he talked all day except when he fell asleep. It got too dark to see so I found us a dry place in the ditch and slept._

_Next morning I checked the leg. Bad. Real bad. Too bad. We had to go. Walked up on some two guys with some goats. They had rifles. The Afghans not the goats. I shot them both. They could have been Taliban. Probably were. Maybe. I don't know. They pointed their rifles at us and I shot them. Ate their meal, fed some to Jerome and it stayed down a while. Took their water and made Jerome drink. Me too. Tasted like goat piss from the bladder it was in. Everyone in this Godforsaken country has a rifle or a pistol or a weapon of some kind. _

_Walked all day. Slept in a ditch. Jerome puked up what he ate. I gave him the last of my water. Not thirsty anyway. Started to snow I think. Jerome started crying. Said he'd never see his wife again. I promised him I'd get us back to our ladies. Yeah, I called them 'our ladies' and I never meant to promise because I figured he was going to die and then I'd just walk along until someone came and killed me. Crazy. Never get to see Burt again. Should have married her. I didn't think she'd be waiting for me like she said. She's an agent, not a camp follower._

_I picked up my little brother that morning and figured it would be our last. Out of food and hope. He's got a fever and he rambled on about things. A pickup truck, a Japanese Toyota pickup in Afghanistan, crazy. It came up over the rise and I saw it and I panicked. They pulled up along side and I saw three men, military age, with AK47s stand up as the truck stopped. The kid driving looked to be 14 or so. _

_The smallest of the three flicked his AK off safe. I could hear the snick as clear as Jerome's breath in my ear. I just knew they were Taliban fighters and they saw a fat reward for us. I shot the one who was the biggest threat and then the other two because they'd got all pissy and were going to fire. The kid popped the clutch to drive away and it stalled. Stupid kid had it in 3__rd__ gear. Dumbass kid couldn't drive. I shot him when he reached for a gun._

_I dumped Jerome in the back of the pickup, dragged the kid out of the truck and just left him on the road. I would get Jerome home to Ayala. I would keep my promise. I didn't figure on having anything to go home to but I promised. So I did. Get him home I mean._

_About 4 klicks up the road I drove up on a roadblock with Afghans and Marines. US Marines. The Afghans got excited about the bodies. They were their replacements on the roadblock. They were 'friendlies'. The Marines got all pissy about the bodies until I pulled Jerome out and told the LT I needed a medevac. Things got worse and the LT told the Afghans I'd be tried for the murder of their tribesmen. Fuckers were Taliban-in-training. He drew down on us. Marines called for chopper and I got home. _

_Surprise. Burt showed up at the hospital. I was dead. Now I wasn't. I would be soon though. Army doesn't like political problems and killing civilians made a problem for the Army. _

_Burt wants to get married now. I figure it's too late for us. I murdered 6 people. She doesn't need to marry a murderer._

_I love her. I won't do this to her. So what if they dropped the charges. Can't have the Host in prison. A bunker, sure, but not a prison. She needs to find someone clean and bright to marry. She doesn't need me. I'm dirty._

_It's been a while since I wrote in this. We got married. She was going to kill herself and I couldn't let that happen. I don't sleep a lot any more. I'm damned good at faking it. So is Sarah. Good at faking I mean. Faking that she loves me, faking that she cares. Yeah, the When Harry Met Sally kind of faking. Must be all that agent training. _

_I can't turn this in. I've told too much truth. Sarah and the shrink talk and I figure if I give them this, it's the rubber room for me and divorce court for her. _

There were a lot more pages but now I understand why he wouldn't get married. He was ashamed. He thought… never mind what he thought. He's not a murderer. He was as much a victim as those men were. He never told me some of the stuff he wrote. Knowing Bart, he never turned the journal in to the shrink. I'm going to burn it. No one will know. He should have told me. He should have trusted me to love him and to understand why he did what he did.

I would have understood. I would have helped him. I wouldn't have bitched him out for waking me up with his nightmares. I would have held him until the bad stuff went away. I didn't. What kind of wife was I? What kind of wife am I?

* * *

I crack open my last bottle and make another drink. I am not a drunk. I don't 'guzzle from the muzzle' like some street person. I use a glass.

I don't want a divorce. I want him. I want the guy who rocked my world in a foxhole in Florida. I want the guy who thought I was going to kill myself when he broke into our apartment and found me cradling a pistol in hysterics. I want the guy who said _'Burt, will you marry me, stay with me, and love me for the rest of our lives?'_

No wonder the Agency is making me talk to a shrink about my 'issues'. I'm over the hill. I'm a liability to any partner and they know it. Just look what I've done to my Chuck.

To hell with the glass. Straight from the bottle, like a baby at its mother's breast. I find comfort in the analogy. Maybe if we'd had kids…but I kept taking birth control injections. I was afraid of having a child. It would have required a commitment to something I didn't want to be – wife and mother. It would have been the end of Agent Walker, CIA. And now I have nothing.

I don't want a divorce.

I want my Bart, my Chuck, my husband. I want the man who would kill to come home to me even when he thought I wouldn't be there. I want the man who had faith in me when he had every reason not to.

My cell phone trills but I can't seem to find it. It could be Chuck calling or worse, it could be the Army calling to tell me I didn't need a divorce because I was a widow.

Where is my damned phone?

* * *

Bethesda, MD  
Casey Residence

I keep getting her damned voicemail. OK, that's it. If she wants a confrontation she's damned well going to get one. God help her if she's got one of her marks in bed with her. It's gonna get ugly.

I call for my car but stop. This is personal. It's been a while since I've even owned a car. The perks of being a director.

I call a cab, wait 20 minutes for the cab to arrive and then tell the driver to take me to the Watergate. I call a number and identify myself and get her apartment number and sit back and enjoy the night. It's cold in Washington. It fits my mood.

It figures that she'd have nothing but the best. Top floor with a view. I knock and ring the bell but there's no answer. I pull out my cell and call her and can hear the cell phone ringing in the apartment. Walker never goes anywhere without her cell phone. No agent does.

I feel uneasy about it but I take a leather case out of my jacket pocket and pick her lock. Stupid thing took me more than a minute. Must be getting out of practice. I ease open the door but the security chain stops the door from opening. OK, now I'm worried. She's in there, not answering her cell and not answering the door. If she's in the shower she'd have her cell in the john with her. Something's wrong.

I call her name through the opening between door and jamb but there's no answer. Going back to my trusty lock pick pack I take out a folding tool and easily snip the chain link and shove the door open. I reach for my weapon out of habit but I don't carry any longer. A director doesn't need a weapon. He has the bureaucracy to do his dirty work for him.

Shit. She's on the floor and from the number of dead soldiers surrounding her, she's drunk to the point of alcohol poisoning. I dial a number and request 'discreet assistance' and give them the address.

She's still breathing so I turn her on her side so that if she pukes she won't aspirate it and sit down at the table to wait. Chuck's manila envelope is in the exact center of the table positioned like a specimen on a microscope slide or a holy relic on a modern altar. I hear her moan 'No, don't leave me' and then ignore her mutterings.

There's an open lockbox with Chuck's will and letters he's placed in it periodically over the course of his career and marriage. I read the last one and almost leave the bitch to her fate. A lot of conversations and events over the past 6 months now fall into place. Ellie's going to have to revise her opinion of her ex-sister-in-law. I don't want to be around if Ellie ever runs into Walker again. It won't be pretty.

I read the page of journal that's open on the floor beside her. Shit. I tuck it into my coat. I'll burn it at the secure document disposal unit. I owe him that.

Walker rolls over onto her back and I move to roll her back onto her side. I get a good look at her face for the first time in almost a year. She's aged and the process hasn't been kind. There are wrinkles where there'd been smooth skin and her complexion was gray and there appeared to be a filigree of small broken blood vessels around her nostrils. Oh, yeah. Blondie and booze have become very good friends, probably inseparable.

The NSA EMTs knock at the door and I show them my ID and point to the not-dead corpse. "Take her to the NSA detox facility at Meade. I'll follow along behind you. Admit her as Mrs. Charles Bartowski and she's not to have communications with the outside world and she's not to be trusted. She's a red jacket patient. Use all precautions."

I pick up her cell phone and scroll through the dialed numbers. I decide to abuse my authorities and have an analyst find out who each number belongs to and have a brief prepared on each of them. There are more than a dozen calls to Chuck's Sat phone number but no indication that the party answered. Good boy, Chuck. Make the bitch suffer for a change.

There are few incoming calls, mostly from the L.A. and Chicago offices of her bodyguard/escort agency, my calls from tonight and one call from Ellie Woodcomb. There are a number of calls from Italy that start out lengthy but end up being very brief. There are several calls from her shrink that she's seeing under the guise of 'marriage counseling'.

The new CIA director and I are best buds and he's been making life 'uncomfortable' for her. He has no intention of taking her back. She's a liability and fast becoming a problem drunk. He also knows and admires one Charles Bartowski aka Charles Carmichael, aka the Intersect Host. They served together in Iraq. Oh, yeah, he's really making her life miserable.

* * *

NSA Special Patients Wing  
FT Meade, MD

I'm awake and I feel like shit. It's quiet wherever I am and I have got to pee. I can't move! I open my eyes and then allow them a few seconds to adjust to the weak light and take in my surroundings.

I've got an IV running in my left arm. My wrists are in restraints connected to a belt running around my waist and my feet are likewise in restraints. I rack my brain trying to remember what mission I was on when I was captured.

The pressure on my bladder is almost as bad as my headache. I see a call button on the metal railing of the hospital bed and push it viciously. Some one has a lot of explaining to do – right after I pee.

A nurse comes in. She's wearing scrubs and has a look of disgust on her face. "Mrs. Bartowski, you're in the Special Patients wing of the NSA Medical facility at FT Meade. General Casey had you brought here when he went to your apartment to tell you about your husband. Now, what do you want?"

"I need to use the bathroom. I can't get up on my own. Please. I'm cramping up." Casey's probably having a field day laughing his ass off at the situation.

"Go ahead and let go. You have a catheter. You're not going anywhere until the doctor gives you his OK. Now, would you like some water? General Casey will be here shortly to discuss something classified."

She leaves the room with a smug look on her face. I vow that I will kill her someday. Slowly.

I must have slept because an orderly has awakened me and is trying to feed me soup. I'm sitting up in the bed but still restrained.

"I'm 35 years old and I think I can manage to feed myself something as simple as soup. Why am I being treated like this? Where is General Casey?"

She doesn't answer me. When I open my mouth to say something she shoves a spoonful of tomato soup into it. I suddenly realize how hungry I am and I quit trying to talk and just eat the soup.

I doze off again and a part of me recognizes that the IV contains more than glucose. I try and fight off the effects of the sedative. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to dream. My dreams are horrible nightmares where I relive every painful second of my betrayal of my husband, my lover, my best friend. I don't want to sleep.

* * *

NSA Special Patients Wing  
NSA HQ  
FT Meade, MD

John Casey was patient. OK, he was anything but patient but as he watched the monitor and saw how fitfully she slept, he found new patience. Let her enjoy her 'rest'. It looked like it was an uncomfortable experience and he had several more hours before he had to leave for his flight to Korea.

He reviewed paperwork, various reports, a briefing paper on the after-action reports of the bridge crossing and the disaster that followed. His friend was stuck on the wrong side of the Han River and there were no plans to attempt another crossing until the allied air forces gained air superiority. There were no plans to do much other than wring their collective hands and move on with other plans.

John Casey had never commanded anything larger than a platoon. He wondered how Chuck was handling the equivalent of a very short brigade. He didn't envy him his task.

General Beckman had called Casey after receiving the 'Plan' from his aide. She had briefed the Joint Chiefs and the Intelligence Combine. The bottom line was that at the first available opportunity, Major Bartowski was to be extracted via air to a secure location and then transported by priority air back to the US. Casey had been ordered to 'make it happen'.

He planned on sending a squad of NSA strikers along on the first resupply bird scheduled for approximately 36 hours from now. He realized that Major Bartowski would not come along quietly, that he would put duty to his troops ahead of something so esoteric as the Intelligence Combine. He planned on going along for the ride and to support Chuck until he could trank him and drag him onto a transport for the flight home. He'd live with losing a friend if it meant saving the friend's life.

"General, she's waking up." The physician in charge interrupted Casey's musings. "Mrs. Bartowski should be fully awake within a few minutes if you'd like to grab a cup of coffee."

"No. I think I'll just sit by her side until she's awake. I've spent enough time on this. I need to get it done and get back into the office." He packed up his laptop and went into Sarah's room to wait.

* * *

Special Patient's Wing  
Mrs. Bartowski's room

Ah, good. She's finally waking up. I don't plan on being pleasant because this situation is far from pleasant and the 'niceties' of civil conversation have no place in this room.

When she finally focuses on me I hear her gasp in surprise.

"Welcome back to sobriety, Mrs. Bartowski. You've been receiving a detox cocktail courtesy of your IV. You'll feel like shit for a while but it beats going cold turkey fully aware." My voice is flat and cold, and very agent-like. She needs to know I'm serious.

"Casey, you have to let me go. I don't need 'detox'. What's wrong with you people?"

"Shut up, Mrs. Bartowski. The only reason you're even here instead of in the drunk ward at the county hospital is because you're married to my best friend. You're traveling on his coattails so I suggest you be very careful in selecting your words. You are not my favorite person. Haven't been for a long time."

"Casey…"

"Shut up and listen. Your ex-husband is in Korea and he's in deep kimchi. He's on he wrong side of a river and he's basically being hung out to dry. I have a video he recorded and attached to a sitrep he submitted. Shut up and watch it. I've already seen it."

I place my laptop on her stomach and initiate the playback.

"It's 3 minutes long and covers everything that matters to him. I'll leave you a copy for your viewing enjoyment when you get out of this place. Maybe you'll find comfort or humor in it in the future. I don't care. Now shut up and watch a man say goodbye to everything he's ever loved."

The cold bitch hasn't said a word or made a sound or changed her facial expression since it started. She was the Ice Queen he'd always heard about but never seen before. Ten seconds after the file closed she said "Again."

She's watched it three times. Three times without any comment or reaction.

"He's going to die if he stays there, isn't he, John? That's what he meant. He wasn't saying 'goodbye' in the sense of 'I'll be around but you won't see me'. No. He was saying he can't win and he's staying with his men, isn't he?"

"He's a soldier and you know _he_ took an oath, made a solemn promise and he'll never break it. Yeah, I think that's the last we'll hear or see of Major Bartowski unless my snatch 'n grab goes off smoothly."

"What snatch 'n grab? He's in Korea for Christ's sake, Casey, not down the street in a bar."

"There's an airlift going out to him at the Kim Ri airport. His scouts have confirmed that there's one runway in working condition. We're taking in a bunch of ROK C123s, old Hercules twin engines, and we're dumping in fuel, food and ammo and pulling out his wounded and dead. We'll snatch him when he approaches to say 'goodbye' to his wounded and we'll leave a US colonel to take over his command."

"We?"

"Yeah, I'm going along. I figure I should be able to get near enough to him to trank him and have the extraction team drag him on the bird and before anyone on the ground can react, we'll be wheels-up and on our way to Japan."

"When do we leave?"

"_WE! When do WE leave?"_ I am astonished and I guess it shows.

"Yeah. My husband and partner is out there and out there is where I belong. It's what's been at the core of every problem we've had. He goes, I stay behind. Well, not this time. The intersect host needs a body guard with no attachments to the Army's mission, just an attachment to him. Get me out of here and make the arrangements, John. I can get closer to him than you can."

"And you'll live with his reaction after you trank him?"

"He already hates me. How much more can he hate?"

"My God, you're serious, aren't you?"

"As a heart attack, Casey, as a heart attack."

"Sarah, you're a civilian. You can't go. You're not a CIA agent anymore. You can't go. Period. End of discussion."

"Draft me into the NSA then. I'm going. You're in violation of my constitutional rights here, Casey, and I've met a lot of news people thanks to Chuck's 'notoriety' and I won't hesitate to blow the whistle on you. Please, Casey. He's my husband. I made a lot of mistakes but divorcing him isn't one of them. I never opened the damned letter. I love him and I can't leave him or let him just be left out there to die."

"You're a drunk, Walker. A liability to the mission. You can't go 24 hours without a drink. You're weak and unreliable."

"You just watch me, John Casey. Now, unhook these restraints. I need to get ready for our trip. I assume you'll provide a weapons load-out and equipment so all I need to bring is me. And I'm ready to go right now, John. Please?"

_I see someone I haven't seen in years. Burt's back. Sarah Walker, CIA is back and the woman who married Chuck is back. Maybe she can get closer to him that I can. Hell, how much more could he hate her than he already does?_

"Be at HQ in 9 hours. We drop and deliver in 36 hours. Don't be late because I will not wait even one minute."


	10. Sarah Ramps

BartBurt10

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).

**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base

**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.

**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer

**XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.

**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.

**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.

**TDY (not Tidy…Tee Dee Why) **Temporary Duty

**NKs (Just say the letters) **North Koreans

**MBT (**Just say the lettes) Motherxxxxing Big Tank or Main Battle Tank

**AFV **Armored Fighting Vehicles – Army talk for armored cars, not quite tanks and other stuff that carries troops into battle and shoots at other AFVs

**Bradley AFV – **Tracked multipurpose vehicle replacing the Armored Personnel Carriers like the M-113s. Thick armor, carries 12 troops + crew and has a nasty 25mm chain gun that can tear things up right nicely.

**Stryker –** Armored wheeled-vehicle. Carries troops and is used to screen armor. Mine resistant but crumple from a main gun hit. Goes really fast on highways.

* * *

Korean Peninsula  
20km south of DMZ

The column was waiting on scouts to report back on the condition of the airfields at Kim Ri. The resupply birds were due in 6 hours and Chuck had already organized the offloading assignments as well as the priority cases for evacuation.

He also had his attack plan set out and organized and all the players knew their roles. If the airfield was 'in enemy hands' a red star cluster would be fired to initiate the attack plan. If the airfield was abandoned, the scouts would fire a green star cluster and then the massive anaconda that was his task force would slither out and take up defensive positions and wait for the birds to land. If the stuff was properly palletized, he could off-load a bird in less than 15 minutes thanks to someone's idea of using the tank carriers as cargo carriers.

He was talking to the senior doctor about the 20 civilians they'd picked up along the way. A civilian double-decker Daihatsu tour bus now occupied a place in the column. Chuck was worried that the senior citizens tour group was not up to the rigors of the trip.

"Major Bartowski, those old farts are in better shape than most of us. They will not consider evacuation. If you insist, they're prepared to drive away and find someplace to hide until the South clears the countryside of the NK vermin. That's their phrase, not mine."

"Well, you can't fault their spirit. They've pitched in and helped you guys out a lot. I don't plan on evacuating locals. Too much red tape getting them back home."

They both heard the 'puff' of the exploding star cluster and saw the bright red phosphors dropping to earth.

"Aw, crap!"

Chuck rode the 6km to the ridge overlooking the small town and the adjacent airfield. There were two tanks at either end of the main runway and he could see AA units emplaced on the terminal building. Scouts had reported another 2 tanks in the town as well as several BMTs for carrying troops. Chuck figured on 30 infantry and 6 tanks. The NK armor TOE called for 6 MBTs per platoon and a motorized rifle company in support.

He could squash them like bugs but he couldn't think of a single thing to get all the troops and armor in one place and then kill them at a distance. He didn't have the time to ferret out stay-behind units that might be carrying anti-air missiles. He had to push them out of the town and into the open and then allow his tanks to crush the armor while his Bradleys and Strykers mopped up the troops.

Captain Jin Kee, dressed in civilian clothing borrowed from the retirees, walked down into the town. He had one of the few radio units that the Major would allow out of his control. His mission was simple: evaluate the threat in the town and then relay it back to his superior, Major Lee.

He walked past shops and stores that were all looted. There was no one about. He found the local police station and it, too, was empty although someone had trashed it and looted the arms' room.

He walked down to the main square and found the people from the hamlet. There were dead bodies in various stages of decomposition lying against a wall. They'd all been executed. There were young children and old people and everything in between. There were no signs of the enemy although he could hear the sounds of their armored vehicles.

"Major Lee, the people are all dead. Executed. All of them. There is no possibility of collateral damage the commander fears."

"All of them?"

"Yes. All of them. In the town square. There has been looting and I hear the sound of the BMTs' engines but no roving patrols or casual strollers."

"Excellent. Slip out to the west and wait for us at the airfield. Advise of any enemy who might leak through our cordon." She relayed the scout's report to Chuck.

He turned to his first sergeant. "Top, get the newsies up here and tell 'em to bring their cameras. Have them follow along with the infantry and make sure they get pictures of the massacred civilians, especially the CNN puke. He only wants body pictures when he can say we killed them."

Less than two hours later the airfield had been secured with only 8 US casualties, only one of whom would require evacuation. The loss of a Bradley to a blown transmission hurt though. The NK prisoners had been turned over to the ROK liaisons for handling. The US had no way of caring for them.

The newsies were ecstatic and subdued. The action sequences were sure to get top billing but the town square had shocked them all. The CNN guy started making noises about possible friendly fire when Major Lee cut off his balls.

"These people have been dead only a day or so. There have been no friendly troops in this area since 26 December. Even an idiot like you can do the math. The personnel carriers were filled with the personal effects and goods from the town residents. These people claim to be our liberators! Are you a total fool?"

The other two embeds were much more vocal about this being a crime, not a military action.

"OK, you reporters have a choice to make. You can evacuate with the wounded and file your stories or you can suck it up and ride along until the next resupply in 3 days. Choose now". They all stayed.

* * *

ROK Air Force C-123 Cargo Plane  
10 minutes from touchdown

"Walker, you got your plan straight? When he comes up, you approach and do your wifey thing and I'll trank him while he recovers from the shock of seeing you. We hustle him into the plane, Colonel Rodgers takes his place, and we haul ass for the base."

"Yeah, Casey, I got it. No sweat."

Casey stood and addressed the action team. "OK, we're ten minutes out. Walker walks out with the first pallet and finds Bartowski. She does her kissing stuff and then I trank him. Colonel Roberts, you should come out when I trank him. You guys hustle off and drag his sorry ass back into the bird and we'll continue offloading. Good luck."

* * *

Kim Ri Civil Airfield

Chuck and Major Lee stood on the apron of a burned out hanger among the remnants of several private planes that had been shot up or caught fire during the NK attack on the airfield, waiting for the first bird to arrive.

"What did you do with the prisoners, Major Lee?"

"Shot them, Major Bartowski."

"Better ROK forces than US forces. But no more executions, OK?"

"Then there better not have been any more massacres, OK?"

He heard a droning off in the distance and saw the cargo plane on final approach. The fighter escort orbited overhead to discourage any NK fighters from shooting down the unarmed planes.

"What did you say, Major Bartowski?"

"Um, so far, so good. An old saying."

"Apt."

"Yep."

"Major Lee, I'd like you to meet the first plane with me. The Korean crews need to see that Koreans and Americans are in this together. OK?"

"Good public relations. Are you a politician also, Major Bartowski?"

"Good lord, no! Curse you, woman, for such a suggestion."

"You remind me of my father. He would have made good use of this meeting too. No insult was intended, Major." She was smiling for the first time. She had a beautiful smile.

"There's the first bird. Now we'll see how well our plan works out, Major. I have a bad feeling all of a sudden like the stuff coming off the first bird is not going to be what we ordered."

"We shall see. Now, let us go and meet our united countrymen. Should I bring the newsies?" She loved the term. Descriptive and insulting in one word.

"Good idea. Let's wait for them to get set up and then we'll make our grand appearance."

CNN was the first to shoot the landing and the beginning of the offloading. They almost missed the most interesting event of the resupply – the arrival of Sarah Walker Bartowski, self-appointed Guardian Angel to one Charles Irving Bartowski.

* * *

Sarah's POV

Damn it! Why is it taking them so long to lower the damned ramp? Was this a good idea? Should I just have waited in DC and met him there? What if he doesn't want to see me? What if he hates me? What if he feels I helped betray him because Casey is going to trank him? Get this damned ramp down!

How can I face him after what I've done? This is a bad idea. A very bad idea. It reeks of bad idea. God, I need a drink. My hands are shaking and everyone can see I'm not ready for prime time.

What if he's not there? What if he's been killed? Oh, shit! What if…what if he tells me to get my ass back on the bird? What will I do? I'm a civilian and have no place on a battlefield.

He's my husband. I'm his guardian angel. He's not going to get hurt while I'm around.

"Sorry, Casey. I took vows." I run off the ramp, grinning like an idiot. There's my Chuck! Screw Casey and the Combine. I'm staying with my husband. I need to experience what he does and then help him handle it. That's what's been missing. We don't 'share' experiences.

* * *

Kim Ri Civil Airfield

There were almost 300 men and women at the airfield waiting to evacuate wounded, patrolling the area, waiting to have vehicles loaded, mostly just watching. And they got an eye full.

A woman dressed in Special Operations black, complete with balaclava, weapon and tactical helmet streaked down the ramp and threw herself at their commander. It was obvious to all that the couple was kissing…and kissing.

Major Lee started to laugh and walked past the couple to the large scowling man holding a strange weapon in his hand. She saw the stars of a general officer and came to attention and saluted and presented herself.

"Major Lee of the Republic of Korea Army. Welcome, general, to Kim Ri Civil Airfield. Our commander is otherwise occupied at the moment but I will be happy to answer any of your questions."

The scowl turned to a smirk and he returned her salute. "Brigadier General John Casey, Director of the National Security Agency, friend of Bartowski the moron, best man at their wedding," gesturing towards the kissing couple, "and I've brought a qualified colonel to take over this command."

He stopped talking when several assault rifles and the Major's pistol trained on the General and the colonel who had come to replace their commander.

"He may be qualified in rank but he couldn't possibly match the abilities of our current commander. General, this is the Republic of Korea and I am the daughter of the President of the Republic. You will not take our commander. You do not have the authority since this is a joint operation between our forces and such a decision requires consultations. Please reboard your aircraft for immediate departure. You are, how does he say, fucking up his schedule."

Casey looked down at the diminutive Major and then broke out in a grin that threaten to tear muscles. Here was a politician _and_ an officer. He turned and gestured to the unamused colonel to reboard the aircraft. He walked past the troops who'd effectively surrounded the couple and said, "Bartowski, you better not fuck this up and get killed. Beckman and the President are going to be highly pissed off if you do. I'll see you in Inchon."

He turned and jogged up the ramp without a backwards glance. Some things were just beyond his control.

* * *

Sarah's POV

Oh, my. I've missed this. Maybe it's the sweaty uniform that reminds me of the foxhole but oh – my – God but I want to do it right here, right now.

No! Please, don't stop kissing me. I don't want to talk right now. I don't want to look at your face and see…wait, he's kissing…kissing me back and unless his sidearm had shifted position…yes!

Major Lee coughed politely to gain her commander's attention. He reluctantly released his wife (she thought he said she'd filed for divorce) and met her eyes.

"Major, the General and your replacement have departed and we are preparing to accept the next aircraft. Unless you see something amiss that I've missed, why don't you and your…whomever she is, retire to someplace less public for your reunification?" She loved the play on words.

"Major Lee, this is CIA Agent Sarah Walker. Agent, this is my 2nd in command of the joint task force, Major Lee. As usual, Sun, that's excellent advice. You know where I'll be if you need me. I have issues to discuss with the Agent but feel free to interrupt if need be. And hold the last bird. Agent Walker will be departing on it."

Was that a twinkle in his eye when he spoke with the Korean woman, Korean Major, his 2nd in command? Was there something here that she'd missed? Arrrgh! Another brunette! And this one is beautiful and exotic and…here, damn it!

I don't care. He's mine and I'm not letting him slip away this time. I have both arms wrapped around his and nothing short of a chain saw will make me release my hold on him.

"Sarah, please let go. We need to talk. I have a trailer in tow for meetings and such and we can talk there. I can't spare a lot of time. We're on schedule but the weather isn't going to cooperate much longer and you need to be on the last bird out or you'll be stuck her until the next resupply. Now, tell me. Why are you here?"

Why am I here? Because you're here, Bart. I need to be with you and you need me to watch your back. Why else would be here?

"Well, I was thinking and then I got your envelope and then I…then I saw your message to me and I realized where I needed to be. Where I always needed to be and where I will always be – at your side."

"I see."

"What the hell does that mean, Chuck? I flew all this way, saved you from being tranked and replaced by that full bird colonel, at Casey's orders, by the way, and you… all you can say is 'I see'?"

"It means, Agent Walker, that I understand the 'why' of someone being assigned to watch the Combine's investment but not the 'why' of _YOU _being selected, considering your petition for divorce for 'irreconcilable differences'."

Damn him! He's going to make me do this the hard way. Jesus Christ, this is exactly why I'm divorcing him. He's so…he fights…he's…he's right. Maybe I should just catch the last bird out.

In a soft voice I almost don't hear, "Talk to me, Sarah. Make me understand. I don't want a divorce but I gave you what you wanted just like always. Now you're here, against orders apparently, in the most dangerous spot in the world. Why? You're not qualified, trained or experienced in this type of operation. Why you?"

Truth time. He's always valued the truth. Now we'll see if he puts any value on my truth.

"I was the bait, the distraction, the ultimate honey trap. My function was to distract you until Casey could get close enough to trank you and then the action squad would have swooped down and carried you out while Casey introduced the new commander to the troops."

The look on his face destroys any hope I have of reconciliation. It's like he's been frozen and then covered with a hard glaze. His eyes are unfocused and I recognize the intervention of 2.0 and I wait.

"I see."

We've reached a line of armored vehicles with troops busy loading ammunition, doing maintenance and other necessary down-time things. What I don't see is a single soldier goofing off. It wasn't because of his presence, it was because they had a purpose. He returned the occasional greeting, wave of the hand or catcall.

"Major Bartowski, do you have time for that interview you promised me?"

I turned around and glared at her. This was my time and she wasn't going to take up a single second of my time. Skanky damned Brit brunette.

"The major has other things to do right now, skank. Maybe later." Uh-oh, I usurped his authority. Shit. Here it comes.

"She's right, Rachel. See me this evening after we laager. I'll make time for you. Bring the damned camcorder too. Just leave Nigel behind. He creeps me out."

'Rachel' gives him the special TV smile she practices hours to perfect and dashes away.

"Something we need to discuss, Chuck?" I nod toward the retreating skank. Her BDUs are entirely too tight for my tastes.

"We have a lot of things to discuss but not here, not out in public. It's bad enough I have these leeches trying to suck up my time and find something juicy to report. I don't need them recording my personal dirty laundry or violating what little privacy I have left. So just put a sock in it until we're alone."

Explanation, confirmation, slap in the face and an order in four sentences. The man is nothing if not conservative and purpose-driven when on duty.


	11. Skanks, Tranks and Tanks

BartBurt11

Only ONE more damned chapter

* * *

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).

**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base

**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.

**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer

**XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.

**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.

**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.

**TDY (not Tidy…Tee Dee Why) **Temporary Duty

**NKs (Just say the letters) **North Koreans

**MBT (**Just say the lettes) Motherxxxxing Big Tank or Main Battle Tank

**AFV **Armored Fighting Vehicles – Army talk for armored cars, not quite tanks and other stuff that carries troops into battle and shoots at other AFVs

**Bradley AFV – **Tracked multipurpose vehicle replacing the Armored Personnel Carriers like the M-113s. Thick armor, carries 12 troops + crew and has a nasty 25mm chain gun that can tear things up right nicely.

**Stryker –** Armored wheeled-vehicle. Carries troops and is used to screen armor. Mine resistant but crumple from a main gun hit. Goes really fast on highways.

* * *

The trailer looked like one of those U-Haul things you'd drag behind your car or truck but it was lightly armored and had antennae on the roof and a satellite dish on one end.

"This is all that's left of the commo section after the NKs hit us at the bridgehead. Everything and everyone else are just bits of metal and flesh in a hole on the north end of the bridge. I was late getting there and that's the only reason I'm still alive and in command."

"January 6. It happened on January 6, didn't it?"

"Yep."

"OK, we're wasting time here. I'm not leaving. I've done enough leaving and it's a habit I intend to break. Now, just so you don't hear it anyplace else, I've developed a health problem and I'm handling it. It will not interfere with my abilities as an agent or as a bodyguard."

He interrupted me like I knew he would. His concern is palpable and the look on his face gives me some hope that I can resurrect our marriage.

"Are you sick? Why the hell aren't you in the hospital, Sarah? Jesus H. Christ, are you fucking stupid? This is no place for a sick person. I can't even properly treat my wounded and now I have to worry about you?"

"I'm sick. I'm an alcoholic. I drink myself to sleep every night I'm not with you and lately that's been all the damned time. I poisoned myself and Casey found me, dead drunk and almost dead. That's just his opinion, of course, but…"

"How long has this been going on?" Again the concern and the soft eyes I can lose myself in.

"Since I started 'working late' and handling clients directly. I didn't sleep with them and then use booze to forget it. I used booze to forget I wasn't sleeping with _you_. I have a handle on it. I'm handling it. I…have a handle on it. Honest."

He is sitting across from me at the table and he rests his elbows on the table and steeples his fingers in front of his face, deeply moved by my confession and I figure he's trying to figure out how to get his drunk of an ex-wife back on the bird without a scene.

"Are you taking medication? Any special needs?" Always so practical.

"Nope, no medication. I just don't take alcohol in any form. It's not as bad as it seems, baby, honestly. I just can't drink any more. It's a dependency that I have to be aware of, that's all. As for special needs? Yeah, I have several but it won't burden your command or your stressed medical staff."

He's thinking. He's trying to figure out why I drink. He's blaming himself, of course, and that was not the purpose of my trip. He never put the bottle to my lips. I did it all by myself.

"Elaborate on your special needs, Sarah. I'm not a mind reader."

Here goes. The last gambit. The last shot before I find myself on a cargo plane to God knows where.

"I need daily doses of love from my husband. Sometimes, if things are stressful, I need several. I need to know that you're not divorced from Sarah Bartowski in your heart and mind. I need to know that you're willing to give it a try. Those are my first doses, the most important. Everything after that is maintenance. There'll never be a cure for what ails me."

Again with the blank look. I hate these pensive silences of his. I hate it when he thinks. What happened to my guy who never thought twice about pulling over to the side of the road and making love? What happened to Mr. Spontaneity?

"So, how much of my time is required to administer these doses? As you can see, I have a lot on my plate right now." Was that the same twinkle in his eye that I saw him give the Korean Major? Since when does Chuck 'twinkle'?

"Just tell me you still love me and that you'll try and work it out with me. That's all I need to start. Casey once told me that you would have been satisfied once with just being in the same room with me. I'll start with that in terms of maintenance – until we get someplace we can just be Chuck and Sarah again."

He's been mentally counting the takeoffs and now he's heard the last plane land. I have 15 minutes to close the deal.

"You need to get on this plane, Sarah. There's no place for you here. There's nothing I need you for that contributes to the mission. Brutal facts but facts just the same. I can't have you roaming around here distracting me. I can't be worried that something will happen to you. I don't need the stress of worrying about losing you. You need to go."

"But Chuck…"

"We'll pick up where we left off when I get back to a normal life. I don't want a divorce. I don't want to lose my wife. I love my wife even if sometimes I hate her. I love…there's no place for it here. Leave. Please. I can't afford the distraction of fear and worry for my wife."

"No. You need me. You stupid idiot, you need me here, beside you, helping you maintain focus and keeping you sane. Look at you. You've lost weight, your hands shake worse than mine when I haven't had a drink yet. You need me. I'm staying. I'll be your bodyguard, your bed warmer, your sounding board, but I won't be gone. Forget it."

I don't know where he got it. It was probably mine. He lifted it from my gear when we were kissing. He raised the trank pistol above the tabletop and shot me! The last thing I heard was 'I love you, Sarah'.

* * *

I wake up to a rumbling sound that seems to go on and on. It's not the engines of the cargo plane I expect to hear once the memory of my husband's action course back through my mind. The ungrateful bastard tranked me!

The world suddenly drops six inches and then rises up another six inches and I bounce around the cot I'm lying on.

"Here, Agent Walker. Drink this. The Major said your mouth would taste 'like crap' when you awoke. It's tea, undrugged, I assure you."

I focus on the source of the voice. It's the Korean Major, Lee. "So he banished you, too?"

She laughs softly like it's not something she usually does. "Oh, no. I'm just resting before the start of the next leg of our journey. You're still here because the last transport plane was damaged by mortar fire and could not take off. And before you ask, no, I didn't know of his intentions. He's an honorable man, your husband, very complicated but simple at the same time. He reminds me of my own husband at times. Stubborn but always lovable."

"Yeah. Stubborn and difficult to deal with and pig-headed and stubborn. Don't know if he's always 'lovable'. Sometimes he's a colossal pain in the ass, like now."

"Agent Walker, if I had been the Major, I'd have used the sleeping gun on you before General Casey even left the airfield. You have no role to play here. You have no purpose. You are a distraction and a source of worry to the commander. The fact that he loves you so much is strange considering how desperate you were to rid yourself of him. To cast off such an appealing man makes no sense unless you already have taken up with someone else?"

I see the look in her eyes. She's going to judge me on the basis of my answer and she'll know if I'm lying by virtue of Chuck's corroboration.

"There were a few 'temptations' before I came to the conclusion that they were not Chuck."

"Chuck? What is 'Chuck'?"

"Not what, who. Charles is the Major's first name. 'Chuck' is a nickname derived from it."

"So you have had numerous affairs and now you expect him to forgive you and set the balances to zero? You are a foolish woman, Agent Walker, foolish and…and…never mind. Why are you here? Don't give me some cock and cow story about…"

"Bull, not cow. Cock and bull. And they weren't numerous. And there was no sex. And both related to the business I run as my cover for my real job."

"Why are you here now? Is it your intention to assassinate the Major? You might find that hard to do since he's gone."

"Gone? What do you mean 'gone'? Has something happened to my Chuck?"

"He's taken a recon force forward to investigate an NK unit interdicting our road march. I tried to dissuade him but he is very determined that the force will reach Inchon and safety."

"When will he return? When will he be back?" I feel a sense of anguish because I know why he left.

"I don't know. We've accessed satellite data with a machine your general left and there is a large concentration of NK armor just north of us as well as the force blocking our road. He's gone to bloody their noses and lead them on a wild swans chase."

"It's 'goose', on a wild goose chase. And no. My intention was to be with him to repair some of the damage between us and to work on rebuilding trust between us, nothing more. I should have realized I was wasting my time."

"You are a typical American woman. Selfish, self-centered, not appreciative at all of the efforts your Major has gone to…arrrgh. Why do I bother. You will do as you will. I will keep you advised of the status of the force he's taken. If you need me, I'm in the double-decker bus since it has the best vantage point for observing the column."

"Wait! What do you mean, 'efforts'?"

"Figure it out for yourself, _**Mrs**_. Bartowski. Or are you the American dumb blonde Barbie doll?

She slammed the door on her way out. Is she another convert to the Church of Chuck? Damned brunettes. And this one's a beautiful foreign soldier. Is he attracted to her?

I do not know why I said I was 'wasting my time' because I wasn't. I was with Chuck and that was never a waste of time. My first thought was that he went off to get away from me but now I realize that it's his job to protect his troops and now I'm one of his troops. Shit. Maybe I am self-centered.

I drink the rest of the tea in the flask, pull my hair back into a ponytail and jerk up the balaclava and step out into the Korean dusk – a freezing cold Korean dusk. I'm not dressed for the weather but I figure I can scrounge something warm from the supply guys.

I bang the door of a covered truck and explained my needs to the tall man who jumped out. "Yes ma'am, we got lots of leftovers from the evacs and the dead. Ma'am, don't know if you're squeamish but all we got has already been worn. Just don't go to the back of the last 3 trucks. Not if you're squeamish."

I'm not squeamish and I am warm. I wonder who 'Patterson' was and what became of him? Curious, and a good spy is always curious, I wander down the line until I reach the tail end and then open up the tarp on the last truck.

I close the tarp and walk up towards the double-decker bus. I am shaken and that's not how I get. It takes a lot to rattle my cage but a truck full of corpses does the job nicely. I wasn't ready for it. God, I'm shaking like a leaf. I need a drink. I'll drink anything at this point.

I reach the bus and chuckle. Everything about this mission has been unusual. The last thing I expected in a military column behind enemy lines was a yellow and green tour bus but there it is.

I climb up and beat on the door and someone opens it and says something I can't understand. I stand there for a few seconds and hands suddenly grab me and pull me inside and slam the door.

"Missy, you let all the hot heat out you stand there like dumb blonde. Go up steps to see Major Lee." He pushes a cup of something into my hands. It is hot and they are cold. I smile. I seem to be doing that a lot today.

I smile again and nod my head. 'Dumb blonde' seems to translate equally well across cultures. I take a sip of the drink and shudder but smile. Hot rice wine.

I manage to make it up to the open upper deck. Major Lee is sitting in the front seat, dozing and jerking awake.

"Major, I need to explain some things about my husband. Things you don't know and shouldn't know but need to know. Am I making sense? No? Well, give me a minute to get situated and I'll lay it out for you."

* * *

Road to Inchon

Chuck's POV

The damned NKs have a blocking force of tanks and infantry right across a choke point in the terrain. We'll need to go around or eliminate it. There's a motorized infantry regiment 2 klicks north laagered for the night. I don't know why they didn't move down and join up with this bunch. We'll never get around them before they arrive here in the early morning hours. I can't slip the column through this gap. Crap.

I whisper since sound carries far in cold air and it is damned cold.

"Here's the deal. Go back down to the Hummer and drive back to the column. Have Major Lee detach a platoon of tanks and a troop of Bradleys. We're going to start a little war here. Have them stop for orders where we dropped the Hummer. I'm staying here. Hurry up, though. I don't want to freeze to death in this ditch."

According to the maps and to some augments from the retirees, some of whom were ex-military and had served on the DMZ, there were fire roads running through the forests. My plan is to use the fire roads to get between the two forces and then use the long range of the Abrams to pelt the two positions and stir them up to attack each other. It's a risk but we have no other choice.

At 3:30am the sergeant I'd sent back scuttled into the ditch with one other soldier and reported that Major Lee had sent a full platoon of Abrams and a troop of Bradley AFVs for the mission and also several Strykers to secure this road and provide an early warning should the NK regiment turn eastward to escape the armored assault.

I should have thought of that. I'm tired and on edge. Being responsible does that. I've lost 37 KIA and 74 WIA in this adventure. I wonder if the colonel Casey brought to replace me would have done better?

I flip down the night vision goggles and follow the two soldiers back to the rendezvous point. There was a fire road a klick back and we'll take that north and then west until we cross the paved road. According to the satellite map, the crossing was about midway between both forces. I glance at the sergeant and give him my orders to pass on to the tankers and the Bradleys. We'll leave and let the Strykers move up to this point and assume their watch.

The tank commander is very nervous, shifting his eyes from me to the second tank and back again. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I walk quickly over to the ditch and get in, dropping down and scuttling westward until I'm well past the Abrams.

The 2nd tank commander is furiously whispering to the first. All I can make out is 'if he's pissed, it's on your head, Ell-Tee, not mine. I just carried her up here is all."

I was out of the ditch and up on the tank in a heartbeat surprising the crap out of both soldiers. "Where is she?" I whisper. "Don't make me ask again, soldiers".

A familiar female voice whispers, 'Don't be mad, Chuck. I made them do it. The Major said it was a good idea."

I drop off the tank, unable to vent like I need to. '_This was fucking ridiculous. Maybe I should just let the damned women run the unit._'

Warm breath precedes her lips almost against my ear. "I will not lose you. If you go, we both go. I'm married to you. No divorce. Get used to it. I'm going to become your second skin. You need a bodyguard. You stayed in that stupid ditch, _alone, _with just that popgun for protection. What happens to the rest of us if you're killed or captured? Get used to me being your shadow."

It's hard to argue in whispers. If the politicians had to whisper, there'd be fewer wars.

"Fine. But stay behind me. You are not qualified to do this. I want to see you stop an anti-tank round all by yourself, Walker. Bodyguard, my ass. Lee and I will have words, Walker. Trust me on that."

"It's Bartowski, Numbnuts. I'll stay out of the way but I will stay, understand?" The hot breath is doing things to my BDUs, making them uncomfortably tight. I have to keep my mind on the operation.

The hot breath attacks again. "I love you, husband. Now, let's get this show on the road. I'm freaking cold. And the sooner we're done, the faster I can get out of these clothes and into yours." Her whispered giggle goes

* * *

straight to my crotch.


	12. Final Chapter

BartBurt12

That's all, folks. An even dozen. Six today. I'm officially retired.

* * *

Glossary of Terms (not all appear in this installment but this will appear in each future installment and expand to include new and interesting terms).

**FOB **(Pronounced FAWB) Forward Operations Base

**Ell-Tee** (Pronounced like it looks) LT is abbreviation for Lieutenant. Most troops call a Lieutenant Ell-Tee if he's a dickhead or if they like him.

**CO** (Pronounced Cee Oh) Commanding Officer

**XO **(Pronounced Ecks Oh) Executive Officer; 2nd in command; does the crap admin work.

**Habib** (Haw Beeb) Derogatory generic terms for indigenous people of Afghanistan. Sometimes **Hadji **(Haw Gee) from Hadji Baba a character in a movie about desert peoples, mostly used in Iraq.

**Hum-V, Hummer, HumVee** – The military answer to the SUV. IED food.

**TDY (not Tidy…Tee Dee Why) **Temporary Duty

**NKs (Just say the letters) **North Koreans

**MBT (**Just say the lettes) Motherxxxxing Big Tank or Main Battle Tank

**AFV **Armored Fighting Vehicles – Army talk for armored cars, not quite tanks and other stuff that carries troops into battle and shoots at other AFVs

**Bradley AFV – **Tracked multipurpose vehicle replacing the Armored Personnel Carriers like the M-113s. Thick armor, carries 12 troops + crew and has a nasty 25mm chain gun that can tear things up right nicely.

**Stryker –** Armored wheeled-vehicle. Carries troops and is used to screen armor. Mine resistant but crumple from a main gun hit. Goes really fast on highways.

* * *

Fire Road  
North of Line of March  
3:49am

The fire road crossed the paved road in a dip in the road. Chuck assembled his force in the dip and then sent half his tanks to the south and the other half, hull down, to the north. He'd left 1/3 of his Bradley AFVs 300 meters down the fire road to serve as flank security. He sent another third ahead to perform the same task. The remainder he split between the two tank groups.

Night vision goggles, infrared and thermal sights were advantages the NKs didn't have. Unless they were using heat-sensitive devices, the forces were invisible.

At precisely 3:50 the southern group fired two rounds each into the motorized rifle regiment's positions, walking the rounds south hitting foxholes and vehicles with great accuracy. They pulled back into the depression and waited. At 3:55 the northern group of tanks, already alerted by the tank fire going down range to the south, fired on the laagered NK MBTs and personnel carriers. They fired twice as many rounds and then Chuck signaled the Bradley AFVs to the west to roll back to the rendezvous point.

Once the Bradley AFVs were clear, Chuck ordered another volley from the combined tank force and then ordered a general withdrawal eastward.

The NKs to the south started withdrawing to the south when the northern force charged down the road, guns blazing at the retreating southern force. As the last tank rolled south, Chuck signaled Major Lee to bring the column to full alert in case any of the motorized regiment survivors decided to split to the east.

Chuck pulled his units back to the column to prepare to advance again westward but he kept a trio of Bradleys and pulled out and down the paved highway on a recon of the motorized regiment. The entire intersection between the road to Inchon and the road to the DMZ looked like the Highway of Death leading out of Kuwait. There was no sign of the armored unit. They must be chasing the remains of the regiment.

The chemical alarms began wailing and Chuck ordered the recon team to turn around and head back to the fire road. He didn't have a MOP suit for Sarah and he didn't want to risk her life for something he could obtain using one of their 3 precious mini-drones.

"OK, let's join up with the column." Apparently the NK armored guys used chemical weapons or the infantry used them or someone had them and they breached containment.

* * *

In a staff meeting, Chuck broached the problem caused by the chemical spills. There weren't enough MOP suits for everyone in the column so Chuck proposed splitting the column with Major Lee taking the unprotected crews, vehicles and the civilians and wounded up the fire road and across the dip and then on until they could turn south and join up with the main column.

There were a lot of differing opinions and Sarah even questioned the wisdom of detaching the civilian vehicles on a road of questionable quality.

It was decided at 2pm by a tired Chuck simply saying 'enough'.

The next morning at daybreak, the 'soft vehicles' and their unprotected passengers and crews turned north up the fire road and then westward through blowing and drifting snow. Sarah had violently opposed being separated from Chuck but common sense prevailed. He tranked her.

"Major, your wife is going to be very upset with you. When we reach a safe haven I'd like to get one of those. I'm going into politics and Korean debates get quite lively. One of those sleep guns would come in handy."

"I'll personally see that you get a pistol plus varying dosages for the darts. And yes, she's going to be pissed but better pissed than dead. Good luck. I'll see you on the road. If we're not there in 6 hours, head to Inchon. You should make it by the end of the day since you don't have the heavies slowing you down. Keep Strykers port and starboard and in front as well. And tell her…"

"Tell her yourself…in Inchon, Major."

* * *

The soft vehicle convoy reached the rendezvous point well within the 6 hour window. The sounds of a battle to their rear chased them across the forests but no enemy units were encountered. They waited and finally the column came into view. It was not nearly as long as it had been when the soft convoy had left that morning.

There were no tanks and only half the Bradley AFVs. The newsies had been sent along with Major Lee and so they caught the whole scene on tape for transmission later. There were very few comments from them. Every one seemed subdued.

A major climbed down from one of the Bradleys and saluted Major Lee and reported.

"Major Thompson reporting, ma'am, with elements of the heavy column. The tanks and a half troop of Bradleys are fighting a delaying action to give you a chance to make the dash for Inchon. The weather's on our side for a change and they can't flank us in the snowy fields without giving us clear shots. I'm waiting here. We'll deploy across the road and give the bastards a bloody nose and slow them down again and allow the remnants of our force to pass through and set up further down the track. If we're lucky, it'll snow and the wind will reduce their visibility and give us an edge. We kicked their asses but it's an NK armored brigade. An entire brigade!"

"Where is Major Bartowski, Major Thompson? Where is the commander?"

"Right where he should be, ma'am. Now, get these vehicles ready to move out. I've brought down the wounded and I'd appreciate it if you could find room for them. We…we…we left the dead. Lots of them. Don't make it be for nothing. Make Inchon!"

Sarah had listened in disbelief to the major's report. She turned and ran to the truck that now served as a commo van and set up the satellite phone and called Casey.

"This is Casey. Chuck, how much longer you going to dick around out there?"

"Casey, Sarah Bartowski. He's engaging an armored brigade with a short company of tanks and a bunch of Bradleys. He's delaying them to give the soft vehicles a chance to dash into Inchon." She gave him the coordinates.

"What can you do, Casey? They've held them for four hours and the Badleys are deploying here to delay them again after the NKs destroy our tanks."

"Where's Bartowski?"

"Right where you'd expect the commander to be, Casey."

"OK, you tell Major Lee to haul ass and get to Inchon. The road's secure and the ROK air force will put up everything they've got left at Inchon and fly interdiction missions. The NKs are pulling back towards the north all across the line. You guys have done good."

"See you sometime tonight, John. Chuck has a sat phone. Think he'd be pissed if I called him?"

"Yep. He's busy. See you tonight."

Chuck was busy. He was about to rain death and destruction on the NK armor.

"You guys ready? You know the drill, right? No slip ups. I got a wife I need to see later. Go back to your tanks and get ready to withdraw 300 meters down the track. I'll be along shortly on foot. Don't let some dumbass shoot me."

Chuck smiled as he watched his unit pull back in parade ground precision. _'Good bunch of troops for treaheads'._

He opened up his sat phone and dialed a number and then keyed in a sequence of numbers using the keypad. _'Payback is a bitch'._

Earlier, they had shoved the commo van into the ditch and added a few smoke grenades to make it look like it was a hulk and not worth troubling about. Inside, a laptop initiated a program written hastily by a weary Major and the van began broadcasting Chuck's recorded voice transmitting and discussing various items of interest including his unit's location. His voice went out and keen ears and signals gnomes of the NK artillery heard his voice and triangulated the signal's point of origin and let fly with an awesome salvo of rockets and artillery. They finally had a fix on the 'flea' that had caused such havoc in their rear.

The NK armored brigade was strung out on the track with the center and command unit passing the commo van just as the NK artillery arrived on target.

Chuck laughed and then stowed his equipment and pulled himself out of the ditch and jogged down to meet his tanks. There would be little left in the way of pursuit. They'd decapitated the command structure using NK artillery, blocked the road and delayed the NKs for hours.

* * *

Inchon Harbor  
Republic of Korea

The battered column pushed through the enemy's abandoned positions and entered the base, 11 days after leaving the bridgehead. The Bradleys had caught up with the soft column and pushed forward to screen the column from surprise attack but the enemy seemed to have disappeared.

The last tank was 12 klicks from the base when it ran out of fuel. No one remembered the Major sitting behind the turret enjoying the warmth from the big gas turbine engine. It was the warmest spot he could find. He wrapped up in his thermal sleeping bag and fell asleep, confident that the column had reached Inchon safely and that the last of his men were on their way to safety. He wasn't thinking rationally. He was too tired.

The 8 remaining tanks of the company maintained a rearguard and one by one they ran out of fuel and were destroyed in situ except for the final tank. An Abrams is hard to kill so the crew just pulled the electronics and sights and walked to the waiting Stryker. The crews rode into Inchon in the dark in Strykers several hours after the main column had reached the base. No one noticed that they were missing a Major.

"What the hell do you mean 'you can't find him'? He's the frikkin' commander of the task force. Surely someone saw him come back onto the base?" John Casey was angry. He'd been ordered back to DC and he'd promised Chuck he'd see him in Inchon. He needed to arrange for the immediate return of the Bartowskis to the US and no one seemed to be able to remember seeing the Major after the NKs shelled their own column and the blocking force had withdrawn to Inchon.

"General Casey, we're sending out a recon force at first light to search for his…that is, I mean, to find him. The last anyone remembers seeing him was when he sent the last of the tanks up the track while he set up the bogus transmission. He said he'd be along and not to let some dumbass shoot him in the dark."

"Report your findings via satellite phone immediately, Major. This is incredible. Find him!" Damn him. He pulls off a march across most of Korea and then disappears 12 klicks from the base?

"You think he's dead, don't you, Major Lee. You said 'to search for his' and you meant to say body but didn't. He's not dead, Sun. I'd know if he were dead. I'd feel it. He's alive and we're going to find him. What is the earliest we can leave?"

* * *

He awoke cold and stiff. He wasn't 25 anymore and sleeping on the hard metal deck of a main battle tank was definitely something for a younger man to do, not a man pushing 39. It had snowed during the night. He had a nice dusting of snow covering his waterproof arctic bag and he just knew that if he moved the wrong way, he'd get a large clump of snow down his neck.

He carefully got out of his bag, pulled his weapon out and checked the magazine and safety and then stood on the turret to take stock of his surroundings. He'd fallen asleep on a moving tank but this tank had been abandoned and the electronics shorted and removed and the sights were gone. Someone was thinking for a change. Too bad it wasn't him.

He'd kill someone for a cup of coffee. He looked around and saw a string of burning Abrams down the track. That's right, he remembered ordering the other tanks to fire on them to render them useless to the enemy.

He knew the base was 12 klicks away. He could make that in 4 hours easily and he hopped off the decking and started walking westward. He let his mind wander and he rethought all the decisions he'd made, second guessing himself with the advantage of hindsight. He estimated it would another hour until sun rise but it was easy to follow the tracks of the Strykers and he set off at a brisk pace figuring he wouldn't freeze to death as long as he kept moving.

He wasn't paying attention to anything, just the effort of putting one foot in front of the other was tiring and he had to will himself not to lie down in the snow and go to sleep. He was so damned tired. He figured he'd gotten 12 hours of sleep out of the last 72 hours and he couldn't remember when that was. And that included the 4 hours he'd slept on the tank.

He heard the sound of diesel engines and immediately thought of NK tanks and so he dove into the ditch and covered himself with his white sleeping bag. He must have dozed off because when he jerked himself awake, it was daylight and there was no sign of the NK armor. Oh, yeah. And it was snowing again. Hard.

The Bradley AFVs came upon the last tank, abandoned and it's electronics shorted out and it's classified sighting devices removed. One of the troops dropped a thermite grenade down the hatch and hustled back to the waiting Bradley. There was no sign of the Major.

The recon patrol turned around and headed back to the base at Inchon. The blonde woman in the crew compartment was quietly weeping and the crew did their best to respect her privacy and grief.

* * *

"Casey, Sarah Bartowski. We've returned to Inchon. We swept the road from as far eastward as we could back to the base. There's no sign of Chuck. He's either dead under the snow or he's been captured by the NKs. I don't know what to do, John. He's alive, I know it."

"The Chinese have turned over administrative control of the north to the ROKs and they'll be busy sorting out prisoners. We might know something in a few days. American prisoners will stick out like sore thumbs. We've put the word out. They'll find him, Sarah. I know they will."

"I'm staying here in Korea, Casey, until we know something one way or the other. Major Lee has secured a chopper for us and we're going to go out again in case we can spot something from the air. It has finally stopped snowing."

"Keep me advised." _Christ. Now I know why Beckman didn't get emotionally involved with her assets._

* * *

Chuck's POV

One foot in front of the other. That's all it will take. Just one numb foot in front of the other numb foot. At least it quit snowing. I'm too damned California to enjoy snow. I need the beach, the warm sun, a hot babe and some ice cold beer and I'll be happy. Yeah.

I got supplies for two days. I got pop flares, I got a bandolier for my trusty stubby, I got MREs so I won't starve. I would kill for a cup of coffee or even a flask of that damned green tea Sun's always shoving into my hands. Oh, yeah, I got a wife somewhere in Korea. I wonder if she's warm? I hope so. Jerome walked quietly beside him, whole again. They'd shared the usual banter and told each other lies about what they'd do when they got home and warm again. At least there were no Taliban driving pickups up and down the road.

Shit, a chopper!

Once more into the breach only this time it's back to the damned ditch. He turned to tell Jerome to hold his fire but his friend was gone again.

Sarah's POV

We're too damned high to see a damned thing. I can't see anything at this speed. We need to get low and slow. I know he's down there and I know he needs me. Good! We're landing.

Oh, shit. Burned out Abrams. This is the line they drew in the sand…er…snow. I know the crews all got out but still, what if he was in one and it got hit? What if he's lying out there freezing to death and I just flew by him?

"Sarah, we know he was alive when he mounted the last tank. We're going to fly up the road, low and slow as you requested, and hope to see something. You need to have faith in the Major."

"I do. Let's go. It's cold and he's hates the cold, Sun. He loves the summer, the beach, the surf…he hates the cold."

We fly low, really low. I can look up and see the treetops. The prop wash from the rotors creates a blizzard but it can't be helped. Damn, it's cold!

The pilot yells something into the commo system but it's Korean. I look at Sun and she's smiling broadly.

She says "Pop Flares!" over the intercom.

We land and Sun stops me from getting out. The look I give her could kill but she says that they need to make sure it's not an NK trap. It makes sense to part of me but the rest of me makes an emotional decision.

I rip off the headset and jump from the chopper and run towards the tall figure standing in the road. He's too tall to be Korean. He's too stubborn to die. It's him.

Sun grunts in exasperation and she and the security team leap from the chopper and run towards the embracing couple. She halts the team and disperses them in a defensive circle and waits. And waits.

"Chuck…"

"Sarah…"

"Let's go home, Chuck."

* * *

Inchon Naval Base

"We need to get one of these for the house, Chuck. The sauna is nice but this…this is just heaven on earth." The stone and wood tub is full of hot water heated by convection through channels under the flooring. Korean central heat. Even the beds were warmed the same way.

"OK."

"We really should get out and get dressed, Chuck. I'm starting to prune and Casey's due in any time now."

"Screw Casey. I'm retiring. Let someone else carry the burden. I'll…consult…yeah, consult, from now on. I'm too old for this shit. I'm tired of deployments and the cost that comes with them. Let the kids have the fun. I'm 'funned' out."

"I want you to quit the Agency, sell your business and come work with me as my partner. That way we can be sure there are no more problems between us. And…you quit drinking. I mean not a single drop. And you support my decision to resign my commission and retire. Deal?"

"You want to quit the Army?"

"Yep. Too old for this shit. Too many deployments and too little time at home. Casey will have a fit but I want to cut back on my involvement with the whole Intersect Project, too."

"We'll talk about this after we get home, OK?"

"Fine. But I'm retiring. No more walks in the snow. I've had it."

* * *

Three years later  
Xmas Eve  
Los Angeles, CA  
Bartowski Residence

"God, I'm tired. Are they finally asleep?" Their three daughters were wearing him out. He had a new appreciation for fathers at Christmas time.

"Yeah. Ellie and Josie are watching TV in the guest room and the munchkins are asleep. Sunni asked me to remind you to leave out the goodies for Santa. Lee just smiled and rolled over and went to sleep."

Ellie was spending the night since her daughter was with the Devil and his parents. She didn't mind, really. She considered her niece one of her own, any way. Her daughter and Josie had become instant best friends despite the initial language barrier. Now, you wouldn't know that Josie wasn't a born-and-raised California 8-year old.

* * *

Chuck and Sarah had adopted a 4-year old Korean orphan but when they went to pick her up at the orphanage, they found her hanging on to a younger girl. The social worker said it was her younger sister.

"Chuck? Please…"

"Of course. It wouldn't be right to split them up."

The social worker made some notations and then explained to the two girls that they had new parents to love them and care for them.

While Sarah fussed over the girls and explained through a translator that they'd be flying to America, Chuck wandered out into the playground. A jet flew overhead and Chuck noticed one child run and hide. Curious, he walked over to her 'hiding place'. She was about 5 years old and pretty as a picture. He accessed the language file.

"Don't be afraid. It's just a jet plane. It won't hurt you, I promise. I'm Chuck from America. What's your name?"

He spent 30 minutes talking to his new friend, Jo. She hated planes because they'd killed her family. She was afraid they were looking for her to finish the job.

"Jo, would you like to have a new family? I have two new daughters and I'd love to have someone like you that I could talk to and be a father to. Would you like to come home with me and my wife and be part of our family?"

Sarah found her husband sitting in a ditch with a little girl sitting on his lap wrapped around him. They were both soaked from the water in the ditch but there was something about how he was holding her…

Sarah went back into the orphanage and told the social worker to 'add one more, please'. She knew her husband. He had a thing for women he found in ditches.

"Lee has the right idea. I'm bushed. Sarah? Sarah? Where are you?"

"Right here. Throw on jeans and a sweat shirt. I want you to unwrap your present early."

The light was out but he had no problem finding her in the dark. "What the hell? What are you wearing, Sarah?"

"It's part of your Christmas present, sweetie. Now c'mon. Close your eyes and I'll lead you to the rest of it." She took him by the hand and led him downstairs and out to the driveway.

"Open your eyes, Chuck."

She was standing beside a military HummV. And she was wearing Afghan robes and headgear almost exactly like what she wore in Afghanistan when she and Larkin…

"What's going on here, Sarah?" He was trying not to be angry but his memory of that meeting was far from pleasant.

"That night in Afghanistan, in the ditch when you got hurt, that was the first time I ever told you I loved you. I wanted to make love to you so badly, Chuck, and you thought I was with Larkin. I want to make that wrong right, OK? I borrowed this from the post. You got a friend who runs the motor pool and I've got this until the weekend."

"So you want me, us, to climb up into that uncomfortable truck and fuck like bunnies when we've got a bed upstairs?"

She looked stricken and couldn't meet his eyes.

"Cool!" He scooped her up and tore open a door and dumped her inside.

Sometime later she broke off a kiss that still made her want more. She could taste herself on his tongue and they'd made love with her skirts pulled up and then totally naked. She hoped he had enough strength left to carry her because she was sure her legs wouldn't work.

They'd come so far since the foxhole and overcome obstacles that would have killed most couples. Now they had a family and a secure future and everything was right with her world.

"Merry Xmas, baby, I love you." He was asleep, just like the first time she'd told him she loved him in Columbus. She snuggled down into his warmth. Home in so many different ways. She'd let him sleep a few minutes longer and then they'd have to get up and make themselves 'presentable' and wait for their kids to discover what Santa had brought them. She already had everything she ever needed and wanted.

End


End file.
